


In Search of the Blu-Bird

by junuve



Series: We Foolish Vessels [9]
Category: Nier Gestalt | Nier, Nier Gestalt | Nier Replicant | Nier (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, the characters are described getting roughed up so watch out, this takes place later on in the timeskip period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junuve/pseuds/junuve
Summary: Storms gather, foes flock, and there's something amiss with the locals.Just another day at the Aerie!But even so, a force ancient and powerful seeks to divide Nier and Weiss, and this time, it looks like their only course of action is torun.(A timeskip period "boss" encounter for Nier and Weiss! It doesn't go well. At all.)
Relationships: Grimoire Weiss & Nier, Grimoire Weiss/Nier
Series: We Foolish Vessels [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543177
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. An Awful Big Adventure

A lone figure walked across the taut-strung bridges lacing the gorge. Her coat was beautiful, being a rusted brown adorned by golden threads woven in concentric circles. The rich coat rippled in the wind as it howled through the cliffs, the many tapered sections of fabric like the bladed tips of an eagle’s wing.

“ _We’re so hungry…”_

“ _We’re so scared…”_

“ _We’re so hopeless…”_

This woman stalked from cold steel drum to cold steel drum, banging their sides to announce her presence. At each, if the door slot would crack open, she would push in the rations gathered from the valleys beyond.

Most people stayed inside these days.

At each home, she braced herself, furrows lining her sun-splotched face. She was never certain what she would encounter at any minute in this village.

Earlier in the week a mother had nearly beaten her son to death. The boy lived only because of the men’s intervention.

The lone figure’s closest companion had wrenched the snarling woman free of the boy, pinning her with his bludgeon as the other men secured the child.

They had to put the mother down and cast her into the gorge. Such an advanced case of the malady was incurable.

…well, for as long as they had no Text.

Almost all of the lone figure’s men (those who followed her and clung not to the foolish Chief) were fanned across the village, delivering the meals, medicine, and else from their latest score.

The Aerie’s trade negotiations had atrophied over the past few years, just like their Chief who languished in his bed. The wretched man could scarcely speak these days.

Force was necessary in hard times. A leader who wasn’t afraid to exercise their power to acquire what they needed was what the Aerie required.

She was willing to do what others would not. Trading lives for an ensured existence was part of the state of existing—a matter of fact transaction—anyone who thought otherwise could not endure.

Sacrifices had to be made for salvation. This was the truth the ancients spoke unto her.

The lone figure’s name was Hamerkop, the last of the bloodline of the augurs of the Aerie; the woman who would save the world.

Thunder fanned through the sky, illuminating the banks of clouds that churned over the gorge.

The red flags around clutched the Aerie’s skeletal framing, ragged from dereliction, left to rot in the wet winds. Once the red rags had been bright banners, symbols of the tenacity of the people of the Aerie.

They were a shrewd people, miners and craftsmen beyond compare, putting even the architects of Façade to shame with their daring designs. Beneath banners so bright, raucous celebrations would once rage, in tribute to the spirit of the Aerie, to the spirit of that which once was and could be.

Hamerkop remembered it well, in the voice of her father.

“ _Glory to humanity!”_

The bright crimson wings of the Aerie welcomed the future openly, with all reverence and graciousness for the full span of mankind’s wisdom that had been bestowed by the whispers of the ancients. The augurs studied this brilliant history and all the spirits of it, and served to mediate the power latent. They spread it into the village, using Word and Verse like no other people could. This was their boon, their strength… but now—

Thunder flashed again, brilliant, illuminating the sharp and sallow features of the last augur.

For years the augurs had given of themselves to protect the village from the truth, but with the loss of the Red Text, of these Words and Verses, the village was split and chaos descended.

The very magic that had been their salvation had taken their last augur—her father. The contest of Red Text and Augur had been bitter, unveiling magic’s brutal nature through his grisly demise.

Paranoia spread faster than the scrawl, and with it distrust of all things to do with the spirits that governed the land. Those who held sway over the weird and wayward were labeled as freaks; objects of hate to be cast out.

The Chief saw to enforcing that.

They had shunned Hamerkop, her mother, and they had spat on her father’s works. A life spent in exile, spent running… although, in all truth, Hamerkop had not been ready to take up the mantle then. She was a child; naïve. She had not yet begun to understand the truth of their world.

But now…

The people of the Aerie didn’t believe in the power of blood, no… but these people had no one left to turn to, seeing how the Chief had given up the fight.

A new augur was the answer.

Hamerkop spent many days pouring through the texts left to her by the ancients, listening keenly to the whispers in her ears. She scoured every page, every article; all the copies of copies, inscribing the information in a form that would never fade long as she lived.

A script of alien origin filled her eyes—her mind—and ran in scars across her skin, in deep gashes, carved into living flesh by ceremonial razor… these symbols were the same as the scrawl she had seen oozing across the sick as ancient foes exacted their due.

But unlike the scrawl, these letters—the Words—she could control them.

Whenever Hamerkop walked the village’s taut bridges she saw a new shadow haunting the edges of her vision. There a moment, flitting from sight the next, hasty to remain in the wings…

… _biding time._

Whispers in the twilight awoke her each day; she’d feel her skin writhe. She pondered if it was the scrawl, but… it wasn’t that, was it?

Something was worming into her, desiring to fill the undeniable void of the flesh.

Her spirit grew restless, urging her to fulfill her destiny soon.

Today the sky was wrathful, and greater storms loomed afar, the distant roll of thunder announcing them before their falling.

Hamerkop was called by her closest companion to turn her full attention to a particular drum in the village. She trekked across the bridges, up and over ladder rung, and onto the deck of note.

A congregation of her men leered at the drum in question, awaiting orders.

One of the families wasn’t responding to pleasant knocks. A man pounded the steel container, and a shriek emerged from inside.

“Looks like _someone’s_ got the malady…”

The malady… she had to stop it soon, or else they would all fall to it. This was what the whispers warned of; why they were turning to hisses and ravings.

“Open the door,” Hamerkop ordered.

Her fingers rested upon the embellished hilt of a razor.

All the men stood around outside, crouched in anticipation, clubs and bars and swords clutched in hand. They had to wrench the door from its hinges, shields rising as each man peered into the pitch engulfing the interior. A rotting stench issued from the depths, and through the thick of it, yellow and gold veins throbbed.

Torch light was thrust into the darkness, and the dark bellowed in pain, pouncing forth into the daylight. The men readied their weapons, but it was of no use. The shade leapt from the bridge before they could reach it, casting itself into the nigh-bottomless gorge below.

Hamerkop listened as the whispers faded into the mists. She turned back to the home from whence it had come.

The family that had once lived there were dead, their bodies unraveled around the room; fluids of all kinds spattered across the walls.

This container had become a coffin.

“All dead,” one of her men reported.

“It was the son. Turned on his own—his…” the words caught in the man’s throat.

“This could have been me…” another lamented.

No one else felt like saying much after that.

It fell to Hamerkop to inspect these cases, with the Chief bed-ridden by the malady.

Hamerkop put a hand to her mouth.

_The stench…_

Not even a augur such as she had grown accustomed to the smell. She wagered that this, and all else to do with these beings, was something no living being was supposed to experience.

After clearing the container, they proceeded to prepare the remains. One by one, the family joined the shade, descending into the embrace of the misty deeps.

The ceremony was quiet. No one said a word. They didn’t even pray to the ancients now.

And why would they? The spirits were close at hand.

Hamerkop stepped away and walked toward the center platforms of the village where the breeze rushed rapidly. She waited for the odors to clear her lungs.

She took out a flask, carefully twisting the silver cap open before taking a draw to douse the stench.

A man of considerable size and build strode up to her, bearing beady, skeptical eyes, a balding crown, and a full dark beard. He looking over the mists below to the distant sun spilling into the gorge. Though his posture slouched, he seemed to wait for permission to speak from Hamerkop.

“What is it, Gogga?” she asked.

“ _They’re_ making the delivery today,” he told her, “scouts detected them in the mines, heading here.”

“I’m surprised they took the gig,” she mentioned, stowing the flask, “I guess you were right. They’ll agree to _anything_.”

Gogga seemed very pleased with being right, grinning to himself.

Hamerkop had long ago singled out this warrior who had assisted the half-shade Kainé in slaying the grand reptilian shadebeast that had so tormented their village. But only recently had the hunt become her sole focus.

Gogga had recounted the battle with the shadebeast in great detail. With Kainé’s strengths being old news, he’d been especially enamored by the fanciful magics of the man and the grimoire, comparing them to the graceful brutality of the augurs of yore, and to Hamerkop’s skills herself.

Hamerkop was a little remorseful that she had missed the spectacle, but alas, she had been attending to vital manners in the Forest of Myth. That very trip had sparked her desire to meet them: the man bound to a grimoire, from a village to the east.

She was so curious she had to see the two for herself. She had visited the quaint village, and when she did see them, matters began to make sense.

His face, the grimoire… so familiar… or so the whispers thought.

Hamerkop had poured over the trade accounts, searching for one transaction in particular: a single deal between witch and augur, between a strange outsider and her own beloved father, between two who knew the arcane…

The tattoo sprawling across the warrior’s exposed back was a dead giveaway. The man, ‘ _Nier’_ they called him, had once worked for the northern witch, bearing her mark.

The book that the warrior possessed was different, however, from the one from long ago, the Red Text of the augurs; the Text her father had used. This White Text was not one bound or caged by crude instruments, but one that could fly freely, even if held to him by a tether unseen.

Fully operational.

One of a kind.

 _Legendary_.

The idiot _Nier_ had no idea to whom he was bound. But Hamerkop did.

“Finished your rounds already?” Hamerkop asked Gogga.

“Yeah…” he replied, stroking his beard as he considered the day, “it was just the three we sent to the depths today.”

Hamerkop nodded, watching the mists swirl around the supports of the Aerie, each of which ran so far they disappeared from sight.

“Make sure the rest of our number are ready,” Hamerkop said simply, “you know how they get.”

“Oh, I’ll get them ready…” Gogga nodded confidently, and then thought of something funny, chuckling, “did you hear? The Chief denounced us today. From bed. Told us to be gone by twilight. Had one of his fits again, you know.”

“Such a fool,” Hamerkop scoffed, “what he fears most will save us.”

“Maybe.” Gogga shrugged. “At this point, I don’t know if this all is going to make much of a difference… can one book really fix all of—”

Hamerkop rounded on him, her deep-set eyes alight.

“It will make all the difference! This will bring salvation! Don’t you believe this too? Isn’t that why you work for me?!”

Gogga held his ground, but his body shivered as a force unseen needled around his neck, around his arteries, pincering each and every one of his weakpoints...

“I believe in you!” Gogga agreed, a nervous grin twitching across his lips. “It’s time for a victory. Payback, even.”

Hamerkop turned her attention from him, the force dissolving.

“All you dream of is revenge, Gogga. I could kill you as you stand. Be glad I will not,” she warned him.

The foreboding aura receded in full, and the giant of a man bent, having to catch his breath.

Hamerkop never stopped thinking about this power—the power of old—her gift, handed down from the ancients. It rushed through her veins, fed by her mind, and her knowledge of the one undeniable truth of their world.

This alone would save them.

“Get going,” she dismissed him, “make sure everyone’s rounded up. They do wander when left alone.”

“Lots of us have been… _dying_ to meet these guys. We’ll give ‘em a warm welcome…” Gogga nodded, a smile spreading on his lips as he turned away. His bobbing, gleeful stride laughed in the face of the Aerie’s somber grays.

Hamerkop detested it, but this man’s willing bludgeon was the tool she ever needed.

They only had one chance to get this right, and if they did, if she succeeded… their worries about ensuring their survival would be long over.

Hamerkop felt rain prick against her skin, reminding her of the deep Words etched therein.

The first pangs of the coming storm were upon them, as if the skies had anticipated this day and responded with a fist.

Just as the northern witch had done all those years ago, this man named _Nier_ was bringing a Text to the Aerie, and with it, their salvation…

…everyone’s salvation.

* * *

Nier halted in the middle of the mines, standing on a dirt covered track as the weight of his pack forced his body to stoop. Above him was his Grimoire partner, wreathed in red light—the only light, in fact, in this whole stretch of tunnel.

Nier cleared his throat.

“…what the hell am I doing, Weiss?”

“Hmm?” Weiss spun around in the air, shadows shifting on the walls as the light moved with him. “Oh, let me see. You are to deliver that bag of supplies to the Aerie, since we will need funds and this is the only job that we could fin—”

“That’s not what I meant!” Nier snapped.

Weiss shut himself sharply, the sound echoing down the passageways after Nier’s voice.

“Well… what do you mean then?” Weiss orbited around Nier, scrutinizingly.

“Uh…” Nier stopped, chewing on the thought. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. All these errands… I think you’re right. They’re… pointless.”

“We’re getting paid to do this, I think that counts as somewhat of a point,” Weiss reasoned, sounding terribly bored, “even if there are more _lucrative_ means that I am aware of, none are so _honest_ that you would practice them.”

Nier shook his head vigorously, scowl deepening. “I’m not…! I’m saying everything! _Everything_ we’ve been doing. It’s-it’s _pointless_ …”

Weiss let out a sigh, the sound akin to pages rustling. “ _This_ again?”

Nier shot him a disparaging look.

“Stop this!” Weiss grew agitated. “You do what you can.”

“All I’ve done is kill shit, move stuff around, get hurt, kill more shit…” Nier adjusted the load, his one eye squint from pain.

“Which has, in its own way, greatly increased our, and everyone else’s, chances,” Weiss strained to keep his voice pleasant.

“Chances of… what?!” Nier asked.

“Chances of surviving long enough to figure something out! What else?!” Weiss retorted. “Now can we _not_ discuss these matters in the middle of a dark, humid tunnel?”

Nier wasn’t paying attention to him.

“I wish I could think of a way to really track him down! I wish I could…” Nier started to fumble his words, “I don’t—I wish… I wish I was smarter…”

Weiss sunk an inch.

“We all do…”

Nier shot him a dirty look, snarling, “was that supposed to be funny?!”

Weiss was hesitant to speak.

“Oh dear… Yes? No? I meant—”

Nier clamped his jaw tight, and decided to speak no further, moving along the main track of the mines. It was hot, and dark, and there would be bats, probably.

Nier _hated_ bats.

Weiss shined his red light ahead in the darkness, praying the shades did not arrive while Nier was in such a state. It was hard to move when the man’s heart was burdened so.

For a while, all that sounded in the dark was the slight tinkling of chain as Nier walked down the long machine-carved corridors.

“Say, are you alright? I didn’t intend to upset you. I’m… well, sorry,” Weiss broached an apology.

“Huh?” Nier roused from his own thoughts, not even pausing his march. “What are you talking about?”

“…it’s… nothing. Never mind.”

Had Nier really forgotten? How fast were his thoughts flowing now, the Grimoire wondered. Weiss certainly detected a deep disquiet, but at the moment, the man was peculiarly internal.

Weiss just kept shining the light at Nier’s feet.

Over the past few years, the mines had grown dimmer as the torches were lit less and less. The mining operations of the Aerie had slowed to a crawl, and now, judging by how things appeared to Weiss in this dim red light, it looked like they hadn’t been mining _at all_.

It was bizarre that they had not run into shades yet. This seemed the perfect place for the hordes to gather, being warm and damp and lacking any illumination.

“I just hope it’s not obvious, you know?” Nier started up, speaking his thoughts aloud, “like… I’m not a bright guy. Maybe there’s something just—just right _there_ —something obvious. And I can’t see it.”

“Well, your eyesight is degrading with age and sub-optimal nutrition, and you only have one eye left to make matters worse…” Weiss drawled on, “I’d wager you are getting blinder by th—”

Nier slowly turned an unappreciative scowl to the book. “What is wrong with you today?”

That was _it_.

“Oh, _I wonder!_ ” Weiss exploded, making Nier stop dead. “I keep telling you to stop doubting yourself, and that you’re FINE, but it seems like every chance you get you start questioning your very worth as a living being! _It’s annoying!_ ”

Nier watched Weiss move in jags and dips.

The Grimoire was practically shouting, “whenever you’re not actively brutalizing some creature, you turn inward and _brutalize yourself._ I am weary of it, Nier! Altogether exhausted!”

“Oh…” was Nier’s simple response.

Weiss tried to vent his anger with an exhale, his motions slowing as he calmed down a step.

“Cease the worrying, I beg of you,” Weiss told him, “if there was a clear answer, I assure you that I, at the very least, would see it.”

“Yeah. I guess...” Nier nodded, and it seemed like he was getting the picture finally. “I don't doubt you, but me. I don’t think I can—”

“ _GOOD LORD!_ You’re doing it _AGAIN!_ ” Weiss shrieked. He darted in front of Nier, dangerously close to his face. “Have you not pestered every peasant to chieftain from here to there in this land? Have you not thrown us into dale and hole infernal to unearth clues? If I recall, you even got incredibly drunk one night and shouted on the top of the northern foothills for the Shadowlord to come fistfight you!”

“Erk,” Nier tried to not remember that, “I… uh…”

“Can we PLEASE, please, _please_ stop agonizing over this?!” Weiss’ strained his voice. “You’re doing all you can. No one knows the whole picture. Just do your best—”

"—and move on," Nier finished, wiping at his chin, still clinging onto some remnant of desolation. "I know, _I know._ ”

“Maybe if you stop doing _this_ , I’ll be able to stop repeating that phrase that you have so clearly grown weary of,” Weiss bargained.

Nier clamped his jaw shut, his brow furrowing. Weiss studied the way his frame tensed, how his breathing was quickened. His eye was furiously studying the ground. Nier swallowed hard.

_Oh dear…_

“Not even I, the majestic Grimoire Weiss, have attained true omniscience… just don’t tell anyone that. It’s a secret,” he spoke with some sense of humor, despite its consistent ineffectiveness.

It was all Weiss knew to do.

Nier was gritting his teeth, resisting something coming out of the hollow inside.

_So stubborn…_

Weiss waited, watching the man struggle to stay his crumbling composure.

He used a calm tone of voice to ask of Nier, “would you like to rest for a moment? I’m sure there’s somewhere safe we—”

“No!” Nier was loud, jerking up, lips curled into a snarl. He pulled the pack up with a shrug, playing keep away with his gaze.

"I'm fine!” he added, unprompted, “stop… just stop."

The Grimoire drifted back, affording the man his space.

“Then let us continue to the village before the shades crawl from their dank crevices,” Weiss spoke as concisely as was possible for himself, “no use in fighting a battle better avoided.”

Nier breathed in haltingly, and began to walk again, this time in silence.

They took the long way around, avoiding the broken, abandoned hut amidst a certain fateful clearing, and swung around back toward the main passageway.

Light began to softly fill the tunnel from an opening ahead. It bloomed until it became a blinding star on the horizon. Nier had never seen a celestial body before, but from all the descriptions he figured they were a bit like this.

Weiss’ red glow gave way to the bright white, and the cool winds rushed in, whistling around cleft and rusted mine cart alike.

The Aerie was at hand.

Unlike Nier’s village, scarcely hit by storm and graced mostly by the settling of dew, the Aerie was wracked by rain and frigid winds.

The wind-burned people were about as grateful as one could expect. What did everyone say? ‘ _Nothing good came from the Aerie?_ ’

That wasn’t true. Nier could think of at least one good thing…

_One thing…_

His throat tightened.

Today was no different from the rest for the miserable locale. Cold gusts buffeted the structures and supports, making them moan and creak. The spitting wetness in the air forewarned of a storm.

“Ah, here we are! What a perfectly dreary day,” Weiss commented.

Nier rested a minute, craning his neck up as his back burned from carrying such weight.

The platforms from which they had fought alongside Kaine were patched up, smaller rounds taking their places with a few connecting bridges mending the gaps in the network.

As Nier looked on at the Aerie’s unique construction, the words of his wife shifted peculiarly into the forefront of his mind, each word echoed from many moons ago, from a world so different and bright…

“ _The first time I ever saw a being’s tongue ripped out was in that damned village.”_

Today the winds were ravenous, ripping through the gorge with fervor.

“ _I don’t think I can forget. I wish that I could.”_

Nier stood before the entrance of the village, steeling his nerves as he prepared to walk across the bridges beyond.

“ _That’s why you and I will never go to the Aerie.”_

Nier ignored his aches and forced a stride. As soon as he stood upon the bridge, every ounce of instinct shouted at him to retreat back into the mines—back to solid ground.

It was always an ordeal, but today it was even worse. The mists boiled below, impossibly far away, angry like a foamy sea. Wind was clawing through the bridges’ red-banner raiments, raking them to shreds. The whole village was rocking in the winds.

“Oh, _I despise this!_ I just loathe this,” Weiss’ voice quivered, though he’d deny that fact fiercely, as he peeked over the edge and shied away. “Can we wait out the storm, perchance?”

“Weiss… you can _fly_ ,” Nier reminded the book as he floated around in the air nervously, “stop being an idiot.”

“I’ll blow away in such winds!” Weiss fretted, “lose track of up and down and break myself in half on a ledge or something!”

“You’re not gonna blow away,” Nier tried to ease the Grimoire’s irrational fears, “and if you do, I’ll catch ya, OK?”

“If you say so,” Weiss replied tersely.

Nier couldn’t believe _he,_ the old man carrying a large load of supplies, was the one who had to comfort _the magical flying book_ about heights.

But Nier trudged onward, always aware of where Weiss hovered. If bad turned to worst, the Grimoire would catch him. Even as fearful as he was, Weiss had come through every time in the past. It afforded Nier _some_ peace of mind.

“Oh, why would anyone deign to live here?” Weiss whined, his voice just carrying above the wind’s drone.

“I don’t kn—”

The spit turned to droplets as rain spattered Nier’s shoulder.

“Crap,” he said, picking up speed, “rain’s coming already! We gotta hurry, Weiss.”

This was the last place he wanted to be in a storm.

Nier passed through the village, avoiding contact with anyone… which was quite easy as the whole area was markedly bereft of human life. This was typical, but even so usually there were plumes of smoke leaving the houses, and the sounds of voices ringing within the drums… signs of life, at the very least.

Now, there was hardly a sound save the winds…

Nier carried along to the first destination of the route Weiss had charted. He shrugged the pack off his shoulder, pawing through the contents to find the correct box. Once in hand, he turned to the drop-off, a sad steel container, streaked by years of grime. He banged solidly on the bolted door, the hinges rattling to his satisfaction.

“Delivery for ya!” he hollered over the wind and through the metal housing.

“Leave it outside! A-and go away!” the resident man’s voice echoed about in the steel box they called home.

“But what about—” Nier needed some receipt for his trouble.

“GO AWAY,” the way the voice cracked told Nier that this man was more of a boy.

“A _thank you_ wouldn’t kill ya, would it?!” Nier shouted into the door, but there was no further response.

He gave the metal container a dirty look before shoving the parcel into a secure notch by the door and departing.

“I fear for the youth of this village,” Weiss aired his concern.

Nier was just thinking the same thing.

The other deliveries were across the gorge, tucked up high to a point where Nier had to clamber high on so many ladders to reach them. How children or the elderly survived this life was beyond Nier, as he was winded by the time he got to the topmost platform.

Maybe they had some lifts around, like in the Junk Heap…? But Nier couldn’t find any signs of such structures.

They dropped two parcels off on these high ledges. One of the recipients responded weakly, voice echoing about in the steel box they called home.

_"Th-th… thank…"_

Nier waited a beat, to see if they could finish their sentence, but there was only quiet.

"Uh, you're welcome!"

It was a strange way, but he'd take it over the rudeness.

The next delivery was received in complete silence.

"Are you sure this is where this needs to be delivered?" Nier questioned Weiss.

“Of course I’m sure! I put a little marker on the map indicating the exact location of-” the book paused, scrutinizing the map within himself, “oh, hm. It could be that container right beside this one.”

“Uhuh...” Nier raised a brow.

Weiss took offense at the subtle slight. “I would like to see YOU try to keep up with all this!”

Nier hopped up onto the adjacent platform, grunting as some part of him popped from the motion. He banged on the other container, but still there was no answer.

There was a foul smell. Nier was quick to back off.

“Guess we’ll just leave it between the two,” Nier surmised.

“Ech, what is that stench…?” Weiss snorted, shrinking away from one of the containers.

“Better not to ask.” Nier was already making his way back down, and Weiss was quick to follow.

They carried the last parcel to a supply shop, one of the few structures that had what appeared to be a _public opening,_ though most of the exterior sign had rotted away. Inside all sorts of accoutrements were densely stacked in shelving slots encircling a central beam. A young man with sullen, dark eyes was sitting amidst the stacks, sorting through a particular box at a feverish pace, all while the lamplight above swayed in the drafts that managed to sneak in through cracks in the walls. Every once in a while the young man would mutter to himself and pause, glancing around as if confused, and then he would go back to organizing, or… whatever he was doing.

He glanced up again, the lamplight catching a scar upon his face, and soon he registered Nier and Weiss looming in the entry.

The young man fiddled around as if trying to not eye them.

“Wh-what business do you have here?”

“We, uh, were told to come here…” Nier held up the package, explaining, “I was sent here to deliver supplies, by Devola and Popola. You know them, right? They’re in the village to the east of—”

“It’s _you_ …” he said slowly, with a distant, rasping voice, “you don’t want to be here.”

Nier shrugged off the comment. Aerie folk would be Aerie folk.

Weiss ceased his pilfering around the room to quip, “ah, I see you have been taught in keeping with your village’s treasured tradition of frigidity!”

The young man slowly turned to Weiss, eyes glazed, as if he couldn’t understand him. He didn’t seem to be feeling all too well.

Nier stepped forward and offered the parcel to the man. He registered the offer at a glacial speed, yet snatched it from Nier with startling suddenness.

“OK…!” Nier backed up. “You’re welcome?”

The young man shoved it onto a shelf beside him, staring at the floor all the while.

He produced a note from his pockets and held it up at Nier. On it a hasty signature scrawled over a note that verified that he, and the Aerie, had received the supplies from Nier.

It bore some crimson seal of approval—a bird, wings spread wide, clutching in its talons both a set of pages and a strange, hooked dagger.

“I’m sorry we don’t have money. Don’t get angry… _please_ ,” the young man begged him, unwarranted, “this is what Popola told us to give you.”

Nier went to grab the note from his hand, but he held firm a moment too long, making it hard for Nier to actually take it.

“Um…” Nier finally pried it from the young man’s grip.

The young man with the scar stared at them both for another few seconds, and then turned away, gazing upon the boxes around with a shifty, stricken way.

He went back to his rifling.

“Alright. Thanks for the, uh… note, then,” Nier said as he turned to leave.

“Is…”

Nier paused as he heard an utterance.

“Is it true?”

“Are you talking to me…?” Nier inquired.

The young man swiveled around and beheld Weiss alone. It wasn’t often people addressed the Grimoire directly.

“Y-you’re white—the white book.”

He extended a thin finger, each joint moving mechanically, his voice falling apart as he spoke…

“Devola, Popola—the shades—the black and the white… Is it true? Are you able to… cure—to cure… things? Br-broken things…? To save things…?”

Nier’s eye moved from Weiss to the boy and back, holding his own answer as Weiss considered his words.

“Oh, that? The legend…?” Weiss spoke, “…who can say?! As to what power is vested in my pages, your guess is as good as mine, boy.”

The young man gaped at him.

Weiss excused himself, “good day.”

Nier squinted at Weiss, but followed him out as he took his leave. Nier couldn’t help but glance back, his one eye searching the strange scarred man, and how he watched them with such open despair.

Nier shook his head.

“…weird.”

“ _Everything_ here is weird,” Weiss responded.

“Still, you could’ve given the kid hope, Weiss,” Nier said.

“Hope…? _Hope?!_ Here? If I had answered to the right side of a positive, he’d be begging us to stay,” Weiss replied. “It is pointless to raise the boy’s hopes.”

Nier nodded. He knew Weiss had his reasons, but… damn.

“You think the scrawl is what’s making this village so… quiet?” Nier wondered. He also wondered if that young man had the scrawl, or at least someone close to him had it… he was in rough shape.

Weiss glared out at the village, espying the clots of metal that dotted the canyon walls.

“Perhaps. I’d not mind if this whole village disappeared,” he said flippantly.

Nier frowned. “Don’t say that.”

Weiss seemed confused. “Well, aren’t you suddenly charitable with your sympathies?!”

Nier gazed out at the gray, wind tossed village, to all those metal containers.

“Look where they live. Look how they’re raised. It’s an endless cycle of suffering here. I don’t even know what they do, where they go, how they don’t all just hurl themselves down into that damn gorge.”

Weiss stilled, considering the statement. “That’s… quite… I—er… I was rather callous, wasn’t I?”

Nier had a faraway look to him. “Living without hope can do weird stuff to people…”

Weiss didn’t like the distance he heard in Nier’s tone.

The man marched away from him, heading straight for the clearest path out of the Aerie.

“ _I don’t care how desperate you get, Nier. Don’t go. Nothing good will come from that gorge. Nothing.”_

He really needed to listen to his wife more. She was right, even now.

Nier decided that he wasn’t coming back… no matter what. Only something as wild as a direct lead to Yonah would bring him here again.

He swore it.

“Come on, Weiss. We’re leaving. For good.”

* * *

The Chief had always done his best to keep the Aerie moving forward. It was not a job he took lightly.

The removal of augury, the nature of their laws, their new communal system… all these things he brought with a bright smile and youthful confidence. He’d done all this despite his people’s cunning and wicked ways, to try to save them from the fell spirits seeking to devour their minds and turn them to demons.

But as he laid there in the bed, waiting on his turn to die, he couldn’t help but smile unkindly.

All in vain…

His throat was burning. Dehydration? Bile? He didn’t know anymore. It was just as well. The threat of death had long lost its savor.

He wasn’t particularly looking forward to dying (mostly the rotting away part, he was always the arbiter of cleanliness), but a deep part of him began to think differently—strangely.

_Dying would be an adventure._

The unkind smile spread, and his eyes fluttered shut. The new inclination was good, but so very bizarre.

He wished he could simply wing away as a bird, but alas, even his humble feet had been cut to stubs. He probably deserved it, but he also really missed walking around. The one silver lining to the Aerie was it sometimes had a pretty good view.

There were guards in the room with him, but they weren’t much company. Besides, he didn’t know why he needed such things. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

Still, the guards stood watch, unflinching; unmoving.

Had they ever left? He thought not. They just stood, blankly staring, mumbling to one another as if enchanted by a deep darkness.

The Chief wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, since every once in a while a fetid stench would drift through his senses.

He was sure that was but a sordid scent from outside leeching through a rusted crack in the bottom of the container.

The guards’ eyes were luminous, as if a sickly gold wished to pour forth.

Every once in a while the Chief was certain of… _it_ being true, but perhaps the smell and the sight were from his mind alone.

Instead of focusing on the big _it_ , he decided to give the guards nicknames.

…

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten most of the names, but he still remembered that he had named one Gentleman Storkley or something like that. It was disappointing to have forgotten, but much was slipping his mind these days.

The Chief didn’t know how long he’d been locked in this cold steel drum, but he figured giving his disturbing watchers cute nicknames was a big indicator that it had been far too long.

There was a creaking on the walkways outside.

The Chief’s eyes glinted in the darkness as he looked to the approaching footsteps. A tiny remnant of his will admonished him for being so disorderly with visitors. He liked this phantom voice, it reminded him of the _before_ —the time before their doom.

White light flooded the room, his vision blurred and pained. He wished to cover his eyes with a hand, but his command over such things as limbs or villages had long slipped his faculties.

The door to the home swung shut with a metallic ring that shivered up the sides of the metal, reminding the Chief that he also had a terrible headache.

There, on the wall, the shadow of an augur… the Chief had seen it so many times in his life. The ceremonial cape, the ceremonial dagger, the cutting and crying… Augurs were always so dramatic, so superstitious, and oh so _annoying_. That’s why he’d tried to get rid of them.

Big mistake. He should’ve known better. Killing off the augurs was like killing off the devil, the hunt was wholly beyond man’s power, especially one Chief’s alone.

But such was the nature of a man from the Aerie: destroy that which you do not understand.

In this one case, it might have been the correct nature to have. But it sure was tiring looking in hindsight with all these daggers in his back.

Damn, he had bed sores too, now, didn’t he…?

His head lolled over, and he saw the usurper looming above his bed.

Hamerkop.

Hamerkop… _Hamerkop…_ What a stupid name.

Or as he liked to call her, “what is it, _bitch_?”

The augur Hamerkop smiled smugly despite that greeting. “The hour of my ascension draws near.”

“Your… g-goddamn… _ascension?_ ” he would have laughed, but his throat only let out a wheeze, “you’re no _god_. What god lives in a shit hole…?”

“One doesn’t have to be a god to—” she snarled, “shut up!”

The Chief’s eyes twinkled with mirth, or perhaps delirium; likely both.

“I’m going to do what you never could, Peter. I’ll make a perfect world. And I’ll make you watch me rule it,” she hissed at him.

He managed to get out, “…be glad to.”

She glowered at him.

The Chief had nothing to lose. Sincerely. He didn’t even have feet anymore thanks to her.

“They’ll worship me for saving their lives!” she declared.

“At least th-they’ll… live…” he wrung a truth from his lips.

She didn’t know what to say.

“And—And after them, the world! The whole world will worship me, and my power, my command, my knowledge!” Hamerkop stretched forth her arms, cloak glinting. “I know the truth of this world, the world of vessels and spirits.”

The Chief just laid there.

“The life you tried to extinguish will be the spark the ignites the fire,” she finished with a poetic declaration.

The Chief simply wished he could at least incline himself so he could look this woman in the eye, but he figured she had something to do with the lack of feeling in his arms too.

It was just as well.

He spoke from his sorry, crumpled up position, “…you’re going to a lot of trouble to spite an idiot.”

Hamerkop glowered at him, her bloodshot eyes wide; her mess of hair frazzled.

“You—you wretch! You desired to murder me and my mother! You struck when we were defenseless, like a coward, like a viper!” she scored him with words, spitting with vehemence, “you’re a _monster!_ ”

The guards shuffled back uncomfortably.

“I know…”

Hamerkop was taken aback. She searched the Chief for some shred of pride to belay. But to her chagrin, he was long a husk, picked clean from the onset of her takeover—no, _their_ takeover.

All that was left of this man were bleached bones.

She shook her head vigorously, a scowl forming. She paced to and fro, thinking.

Maybe she’d not simply _destroy_ the nerves leading to his limbs, maybe she’d twist his body so that it was eternally in pain! That would get him!

Once she had the power of the White Text, she would be able to shape the flesh however she saw fit.

Or maybe she’d take off his hands too? Then the stumps of his arms would match the stumps he had for legs. He’d be so pathetic. Or maybe—!

“I’m sorry.”

She froze.

“I wish I could’ve seen this hatred sooner,” the Chief said, clarity breaking through, “then maybe the village wouldn’t… w-wouldn’t…”

Her rusty coat had fallen around her, concealing how her nails dug into her skin as her fists tightened and tightened and tightened.

She drew blood.

The wind was howling.

Hamerkop slowly turned on the Chief.

How dare he after all he had done to her, to her mother; to her father?! How dare he!? How dare he?! How dare he? How dare he? How dare he how dare how dare how dare how dare how dare how dare how dare

A terrible spirit had entered this home.

“I’ll make sure your body is no longer yours alone,” she hissed.

Through her clothing, the Words carved into her flesh ebbed their sickly light, kindled by her burning blood. Red letters danced in her periphery. There was a force moving in this room, one unseen.

The Chief began to pray, and as he spoke his words were mingled with the din of rain railing against the metal container.

“Pray all you want, Peter. I saw the future in the past. My spirit beckons—no, compels me—to carry on this quest,” Hamerkop imparted this, and for a moment, the prayer ceased. “This alone will save our souls.”

Peter, the Chief, lent his gaze to her, a weary, unkind smile on his lips—wet as the drenched sides of his forsaken home.

“I don’t need someone else’s soul.”

This was the one thing his addled mind was certain of…

A sharp clang resounded through the drum, and low gray light heralded Gogga’s entrance. Neither flinched at the sudden illumination, nor the influx of cold air. As it rushed in, it replaced the soiled aroma with the scent of a storm.

Gogga hesitated, his eyes aglow, before he spoke the words Hamerkop had so long wished to hear:

“ _It’s time.”_

She nodded and drew to her full height, casting one final glance over the Chief, his colorless lips moving in the oblique light.

“He’s doing that thing again… that mumbling thing,” Gogga observed, “do you want me to cut out his tongue? Or are you not done with him?”

The image of the wretched Chief, the wretched murderer, was burned into her mind.

“Let him babble,” Hamerkop said, turning away, “we have our mission. He has his fate.”

The door shut with a rattle, leaving the Chief to his many words in a room dominated by Shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a happy little village, huh? Tell me what you think, if you like! I always love hearing opinions, good or bad, or about bits you found interesting.  
> And never fear, the fic is complete! I'll be rolling out the next chapter in a few days. Thank you for reading! <3


	2. The Flight

The storm had picked up while Nier was only halfway down through the clots of twisted rope and wooden scabbing. Relentlessly, the sky poured itself out, all pathways soon too slippery to tread safely upon. Combining this with the lack of railings was… concerning, to say the least.

The wind started howling. The structures began to creak and creep, swaying over the abyss. Each drop of rain stung as it struck Nier’s skin.

“To cover, now!” Weiss implored as he wrenched himself shut in the wind.

The two raced down the bridge, pace quickening as the winds did likewise.

A tremendous gust rocked the bridge, and a few sharp snaps resounded through the gorge. The suspended walkways above were swinging like slack ropes, the support trusses dangling in the wind along with the flags still fastened tight. Whatever supplies hadn’t been bolted down began to slide, and finally shimmied off, crashing down through the layers of cables and bridges below.

Nier paused, the cascade of heavy spools of cable colliding with the walkway just ahead. Splinters were carried off by the wind, the spools rolling down further into the Aerie, destined for the bottom of the crevasse.

Nier waited for the way to clear, and jumped forward, clearing the cracked wood. He spared no time rushing toward what he hoped was shelter on the other side of this bridge.

Weiss was leading him toward it, offering his own body as a hand-hold whenever the winds and slick boards proved too tricky for Nier to navigate.

They were over halfway now, but the storm wasn’t thinking about letting up.

A horrible _crack_ resounded as one of the major wires above broke free from its anchor. It sliced through the air, swooping toward the other end of the gorge in seconds. The wind it shrugged off as it passed overcame even the storm’s gusts for a moment, and Nier was unbalanced, steadying himself on all four limbs. Weiss bashed into Nier’s side with a shield of darkness, keeping Nier from sliding off the edge completely.

The bridge that the major support had been tethering inverted on itself, hurling all it bore down on them.

“LOOK OUT!”

Dozens of boxes of cargo and the like battered the bridges beneath, hurtling toward them. Nier sprang ahead, and tried to dodge the debris by outrunning them.

Pure instinct.

A crate exploded to his right, fibers inside cast into the wind. Pieces of whirling lumber struck down, and he narrowly avoided impalement. An entire netting full of repair equipment hurled into the bridge, and Nier came to a stop, shielding himself from the impact. Several more collisions sent shock waves through the path underfoot.

The debris had ceased, for now.

As he rose from a protective crouch, a sharp sting shot through his back. Something had clipped him, but at least the worst of it was over…

…relatively speaking.

The bridge under foot began to buckle, and sharp shrieks of wood and steel being shorn asunder overwhelmed the howl of wind. It was getting hard to see, and Nier didn’t know if he was still facing the right direction anymore… not with all the dodging debris.

“This way, this way!” Weiss urged, his pages emitting a sharp red light as if he were a lantern. His hovering body wavered in the wind, but slowly he led Nier toward refuge.

Nier scrambled underneath the coverings of the platform, falling into a netted pile of miscellany from the exertion. Weiss hovered over him, scouting the area.

Many layers of awning protected this platform, and the base of it was cut into the far side of the gorge. The tethering stakes and arrangement of cables were well-burrowed into the cliff, affording it stability that the other structures encompassing lacked in such turbulence.

Nier could still feel the cold buffets of wind too keenly, and so lifted himself up and staggered to the wall on the other side of the deck. He planted his hands on the cool rock… mostly just to feel something that wasn’t _moving_.

There he gathered his wits and his breaths, eventually leaning his full weight into the rock.

“Oh dear, that’s quite a gash,” Weiss glanced over Nier’s back. It was hard to miss the streak of scarlet marring the tattoo spanning his shoulders.

“A scratch,” Nier breathed out, the notion humorous, though he was still a bit winded.

Before Weiss could begin the mend, Nier piped up, waving him away, "let me… let me, uh, get this one."

“Now is HARDLY the time to—”

“I work better under pressure,” Nier cut Weiss off, “it’s not all too deadly and we aren’t going anywhere either.”

Weiss swiveled around, surveying the storm as it raged. _Not all too deadly?!_ Weiss nearly DID blow away, and even he admitted that he’d not been _truly_ expecting that!

But even so, Weiss acquiesced with a sigh. “As you wish.”

Nier nodded, and then forced himself to stand up straight. Weiss splayed open to a particular page, illuminating the specific Verse and Words he needed with curls of ink.

“I know which Verse I’m gonna say, Weiss.” Nier pressed gently on the white pages before him, pushing the book away.

“One cannot be too careful with magic!” Weiss insisted, shoving himself into Nier’s face.

Nier had to agree. So he did, firmly, “…yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Weiss scoffed, readjusting his pages with a snap and a clearing of his ‘throat’. “Begin when you are ready.”

Nier cleared his _actual_ throat, and then started with the first Word. His eye traced each syllable carefully, and with each Word the magic built, coiling around his back and plunging through his skin.

Though he could only articulate the basic roots of each Word, such rudimentary dictation sufficed to mend a nick like this.

Nier finished, the final Word accompanied by a tone that was not from a vocal cord of flesh, but… from somewhere else. The noise issued from all around him, as if the air itself was a bell.

Nier craned his neck back, trying to see his wound. All in vain, as he’d traded flexibility for strength a long time ago, though he often forgot that.

“…did I get it?”

“Mmmm…” Weiss clapped shut and swung around behind him, bobbing as he inspected the wound. He clucked his ‘tongue’ in disapproval. “Not quite. You were off key, as I suspected.”

“…again?” Nier deflated a little.

“Oh yes,” Weiss was emphatic, “it was hard to endure.”

Nier grunted disapprovingly.

“Follow along with me as I cast,” Weiss instructed, “don’t worry. I’ll go slow.”

Nier squinted his lone eye at him, his scowl in good humor. Mostly.

They began the spell together, the Words flowing.

Weiss would hold onto his intoning every once in a while, waiting for Nier to match him before moving to the next syllable. He was true to his word, going at a glacial pace compared to his usual syllabic acrobatics during fights.

Weiss’ voice and harmonies had become a bedrock element of the dissonance during battle.

It was a little weird, at first, having some old man’s voice singing through the middle of battle, but now Nier almost depended on it to carry him through. He didn’t want to imagine the silence of its absence.

…songs sure were powerful, weren’t they?

Nier could feel the air around himself again, as if crystallized by the surging voice of the Grimoire. But Nier’s own low tones too added to the effect, bolstering and intertwining, even if far weaker… for now.

The wrath of the winds was replaced by a chiming coalescence, all clear tones. The energy pulsed through Nier’s flesh, warming his blood, making him shiver as it converged on his wound.

It was hard to focus—to even speak—as Weiss’ presence swelled around him, like a channel without fathom. He had to concentrate on one singular Word at a time, dragging his gaze from letter to letter.

It was all he could do to keep going.

But Nier saw it through, finishing their spell with a final gasp of air. As the overwhelming force of the Grimoire vacated, his senses came rushing back. He staggered a step, realizing only then how dim his world had become.

The storm was still loud, the dampness cloying, the air cool, and the gray dark oppressive, all in contrast to the warmth of Weiss.

_Weird…_

“Ah, there you are.” Weiss was ever so pleased as he saw the skin upon Nier’s back had come together, melting twain, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey! W-we did it,” Nier sounded about as surprised as anyone else that they had completed the spell.

“Of course we did. A mere trifle when compared to our might when combined, hm?” Weiss’ spoke fondly.

Nier nodded to agree, privy to how deep that fondness ran through their bond.

“However! I cannot emphasize this enough: _do not_ try to do this while I am not present!” and so Weiss switched to nagging in one breath.

“I know, I know!” Nier sounded hassled.

Weiss kept going, “I don’t want you to start _hearing things_.”

“Weiss,” Nier had a tinge of a warning, “don’t get started on all the foreboding crap. I got it.”

“It’s for your sake!” Weiss finished his point.

Nier hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t want anything upsetting ruining the sense of completion he held onto… from just a simple healing spell, no less. But it wasn’t often he felt _nice_.

Nier sat down in a nook, leaning into a few of the scattered crates on the platform. He faced the breadth of gorge, observing the storm.

Weiss seemed to get the picture, and resolved to sit and watch the spectacle beside him.

Their bodies were somehow relaxed, afforded a certain level of complacency. Nier was still glowing from the magic.

“Thanks for teaching me, uh, the stuff,” he said, and then added with sincerity, “…seriously.”

“Hm? Oh,” Weiss lifted a touch from where he’d alighted to rest. “You don’t have to thank me. It’ll be a relief to not have to attend to every little scratch you receive.”

Weiss followed that with a gentle chuckle.

Nier avoided rolling his eye too heavily. He watched the swaying cables beyond, the patterns formed from their crossings a bit mesmerizing as the rain rolled.

“It’s just… you know, my wife used to talk a lot about magic,” Nier touched on this rare topic, “I—I never thought I’d meet someone who could use _it_ , much less would teach me. Guess I’m just a little…” He scratched at his scalp, considering his choices before giving up. “I don’t know a word for it.”

“Sentimental?” Weiss supplied.

“Yeah?” Nier shrugged. “Probably.”

“It’s not a bad thing in the proper amount.”

“Guess not.”

Weiss spoke further, unable to help himself, “your wife strikes me as one who was quite bold, being a woman who studied the arcane.”

Nier was silent.

Weiss knew that Nier had told him that he was at peace with his wife’s… _departure_ , but the Grimoire was certain that this was a lie. Weiss had never quite brushed against such a loss before, but he was starting now to understand how dear one could become to another.

Nier answered after a minute of contemplation, “she was bold... Bold and smart. I’m glad she was on my side.”

Nier grew restless, as if he regretted bringing her memory up at all. “Anyway...”

Weiss dropped the matter, though still the curiosity of why Nier’s own wife, his own flesh, dared not to pass on any small part of her knowledge. Perhaps her grasp of the arcane was so lowly she could not…? Yet Weiss sincerely doubted this. She had been _known_ as a witch—her reputation proceeded her. That much the villagers had alluded to around the Grimoire.

…and not much else.

It was as if she had just ceased to be one day.

But how…?

It really wasn’t his business, now was it?

Weiss changed subject to get his mind off this personal matter, “I am eager to leave, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah," Nier was quick to move along, “the sooner this trip’s over, the better.”

“Agreed, my good man!” Weiss bobbed as if to nod. “Maybe we can engage in some fishing activities after this all.”

Nier mused darkly, “…if we make it out of here in one piece.”

“Oh, come now,” Weiss admonished him, “you think some storm could off the grandeur that is Grimoire Weiss? And likewise Nier himself, the—the great warrior of… er—fighting…? Yes. Quite.”

Nier made a face at that bungled declaration. A grin was spreading.

He spoke, trying to not laugh at Weiss, “either way, you hate fishing.”

“I don’t _hate_ fishing, I just simply _loathe_ it. There’s a difference!”

Nier smirked at that, shaking his head.

“It does, however, give me a chance to lay down for a moment,” Weiss admitted.

“ _Lay down?_ ” Nier leaned back a bit. “What are you… _tired?_ Don’t tell me you’re getting old and decrepit, Weiss.”

“Bah!” Weiss didn’t quite deny it, “why don’t you try staying awake for a fortnight or two?”

“Sure, sure…” Nier played the skeptic in good humor, “ _old man._ ”

“What was that?!” Weiss feigned offense.

He had gotten Nier to smile, and he felt exceedingly proud for it. The horrendous thrashing winds and waves of rain were oh so far away.

Soon, they’d be out of this hellhole and off to experience some deserved _relaxing_ quiet. Weiss would see to it.

… _old man._ Hmph! Old man indeed! Weiss would show Nier just how lively—how _energetic—_ he was! He’d show him in many, many… creative ways.

Perhaps their time would not be _quiet_ , but it would be relaxing.

“What are you so happy about?” Nier asked the book beholding him.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” Weiss’ answer was hasty.

Nier tipped his head, studying Weiss. “I think you should calm down.”

“Errr…”

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” Nier leaned back, mentioning offhandedly, “it sounds great.”

“What? What sounds great? I didn’t say anything.” Weiss hovered away a few inches, looking around cautiously. “I didn’t… did I?”

“You didn’t say anything, but… I got the message.”

Nier winked… with his one eye. The lack of a second eye muddled the gesture, only adding to Weiss’ confusion.

“What part, if you don’t mind…?” Weiss asked quietly.

“Oh, _you’ll know._ ”

“Know what?!”

“You’ll just _kn—_ ”

A shrill screech pierced the general din of rain, and a weather vane ripped from its spire, spinning past the platform into oblivion.

Weiss jerked away, a bit delayed. “Good heavens!”

“Damn,” Nier remarked.

Was even the sky coming for humanity now?

Now that Nier was paying more attention he noticed a rather sizable group of men had arrived. They clouded the edge of his vision, shifting past the stockpiles under the awnings.

They hadn’t been there before… and there were only so many entrances to this platform, all of which he and Weiss had had their faces turned toward. Surely Weiss would have detected them if he had not, unless these men had somehow materialized out of the rock walls behind—

No, that wasn’t it. They were clearly humans, with healthy flesh tones and proper clothes.

And… weapons. Many, _many_ weapons.

Nier stood up, scanning the platform to his left and right.

Weiss was likewise locked onto these newcomers. Nier could sense the intense calculations racing through his pages as he probed each person with magic.

So many bodies…

“Think these guys were just hiding out here?” Nier asked, his voice still low as he appraised the men that loitered to either side of him.

Weiss sighed tersely, “I do not know. But I detect trickery. Something is repelling my senses.”

“ _Repelling…?_ How?” Nier whispered.

“There’s _something_ here, but it doesn’t smell of shades,” the book growled under his breath.

Nier asked, his tone low and severe, “what’s _something?!_ ”

“It’s not Noir. I’d know if it was,” the Grimoire’s voice wavered, “but there’s something… I-I can’t explain it.”

_Noir._

“That’s bad, Weiss.”

“Y-yes. Yes it is.”

Nier’s body chilled as memories resurfaced within Weiss.

_Noir..._

They had to be ready for anything.

Nier offered the most fleeting of glances to the men, and they began to approach. Nier and Weiss watched each other’s flanks.

“What’s going on here?” Nier asked them, but he received little answer.

“Hey! I’m talking to you people,” he shouted at yet more of these men. Where the hell had they come from? “Is this how you welcome people here?”

A man was coming down one of the walkways, as if he had simply materialized from the air. He strode through the sheets of rain and bouts of wind without a hint of urgency, unmoved by the lashes of storm that had the rest of the Aerie trembling.

He stepped with surety, ducking beneath the awnings, revealing a balding head as he bowed. This newcomer was a colossus unto himself, his long, dark beard dribbling wet down slicked, armored garments.

A brutal bludgeon hung at his side, and each of his fists were wrapped in gauze. His grand frame was girded by leather scales that shifted as he strode.

He offered a sickening smirk to Nier.

“Welcome,” he was first to speak.

“You had best explain yourself, man,” Weiss warned, “we are not to be trifled with!”

The giant merely tugged at his beard, consideration gleaming in slit eyes. “We’ve met…”

“Beg your pardon!?” Weiss talked as if the notion was preposterous.

“You just don’t realize it.” The giant hooked his hands into his belt, his brow pinching with a mocking fondness. “Yet.”

Nier watched how the others fanned out around the platform, shambling almost. Weiss watched them too, tilting to track the others.

“That’s more than enough, foul miscreants! It is unwise to trifle with Grimoire We-”

An overwhelming _presence_ choked Weiss’ thoughts. He was blinded. All the rest of these fiendish men paled as a fount of magic made itself known.

“This is no way to treat our guest of honor, Gogga!” a feminine voice cut through the drone of storm.

Weiss leaned on Nier’s sight to see this creature…

A cloaked figure stepped out from the throng, gaze never leaving Weiss. At once Nier was dazzled by the rich warmth of the fabric of her cloak, and the shimmer of its many threaded circles. While the rest of the lot on the platform were sopping with rain, this woman was utterly untouched, her hair dry and her clothing still loose and flowing.

“Who are you?!” Nier snarled, and continued before he had an answer, “call them off or things aren’t going to be pretty.”

She smiled. He’d sensed her importance already. “I am the Aerie’s Augur. It’s _last_ Augur.”

“You’re a… what?”

“An augur,” she repeated, “you know!”

Nier didn’t know, and Weiss’ decorations curled slightly as he scrunched his face a bit, trying to recall.

“I am a shaman. A _mage!_ ” she shouted at the idiot.

Weiss seemed to understand now, but Nier was still clueless. “A what?!”

“SHUT UP!”

Nier jerked back, shocked by the register of her shriek.

She regained her composure with a deep breath.

Bearing a distinct presence of annoyance, she asked Weiss, “how do you put up with this brute?”

“ _Tch_ , you’re one to talk, woman, with your posse of undesirables,” Weiss retorted.

Nier was done playing, and lowered his stance, reaffirming his connection to Weiss as he planned his opening.

“I’m done talking,” Nier’s threat had weight, though he was only one man.

“Guys…. d-didn’t you see what these two can do to shades…?” the young man from earlier, the one with the scar, spoke up.

How the hell did _he_ get here…?!

The cloaked woman turned a sharp glare to him, sending the young man into a panic. A cacophony of snarled insults and glares followed. Those noises, they were human, but… something was seriously off.

The young man was cowering.

This woman noticed the mass of men more readily now, and waved them off curtly. “Back away, you fools…” she ordered, and the sum of the host shuffled away.

Nier watched them turn away. “Now, explain to me what the hell is—”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Nier,” the cloaked woman cut him off. Not so much by overpowering him in voice, but by some force unseen which caused Nier’s muscles to shiver, though he felt no cold. “I’m talking to you, Grimoire Weiss.”

Weiss had no barb, only fear at how such a miserable woman knew their names. He desperately wished to test her strength, but the energy around her was in flux, fleeting, playing with his perception of it.

This woman’s power was not veiled as Kaine’s had been to him, but this woman’s magic was unmasked; glaring at him like an over bright day.

This boded ill.

“What do you want?” he inquired.

She seemed pleased to hear that question asked, “well, I didn’t quite introduce myself, did I? I am Hamerkop. _Augur Hamerkop_. Excuse me for using your names so flippantly. I know it can be surprising to experience such familiarity, but it can’t be helped. Word travels far of a Legendary Grimoire and some barbarian slaughtering scores upon scores of shades.”

The crowd of men leered at Nier and Weiss.

“Would you just shut up and get to your point already?” Nier grumbled.

She let that comment slide, smiling at Weiss. “What I want is to make a proposition.”

“Oh, Lord…” Weiss took a deep breath.

“No, _think about it_ …” Hamerkop appealed to Weiss, her tone calm and logical, “you know what I am, Grimoire Weiss.”

“A witch…?” he ventured.

Hamerkop’s eyes were alight with some mad glee, “no. Think _greater_.”

“Witchdoctor…?” he guessed again, already tired of the game, “oh, wait. Trick question, it’s an Augur, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you’ve decided to call yourself?”

Hamerkop disregarded his statements, “I know what you are. You don’t. And this idiot,” she gestured to Nier, “absolutely has no clue as to who and what you are, or what you’re destined to—no, who you _deserve_ to become.”

Weiss drifted back a few inches. Was this what a pompous ass sounded like? How _exhausting!_

“I’m not interested in other partners, now if you’ll excuse—” Weiss’ clipped short. It sounded as if he’d just been seized.

Nier might have been an ‘idiot’ but he could sense the waves of magic rolling past him and pulling Weiss under.

“That’s it!” Nier moved into a stance, pointing the tip of his spear at Hamerkop.

The men began to encroach. Metal shimmered as weapons were drawn. Steely teeth were bared all around.

To make matters worse, the giant had filtered through the back, and now loomed over Nier’s flank, his bludgeon resting readily in his grip.

_How the hell was he gonna deal with all this?_

“I must secure our future, so this means I must claim the past,” the Augur Hamerkop declared, eyes locked on Weiss, “and that, my friend, starts with you.”

Weiss tried to fight the cloaked woman’s predatory gaze, but a sickening trance was washing over him.

“What is this… what is this…?” Weiss muttered, as if trying dearly to remember—or perhaps forget. “Curse you! I want nothing to do with you! You or these creatures!”

The cloaked woman shrugged. “I knew you’d say that. You’re just bound to repeat the same mistake over and over again. Too afraid to even use a little bit of your power; cursed with modesty.”

Weiss couldn’t stop himself, throwing off her hold with a sweep of his pages. “Cursed?! CURSED!? You talk of the past! Of the future! Of curses! But if you truly believed and understood such things you would not _dare_ to cross a grimoire, much less the likes of the legendary Grimoire Weiss!”

“OK…” The cloaked woman opened her arms, the garment unfolding upon her span to reveal the fullness of its glinting, wing-like ridges. “Go on. Curse me, Grimoire Weiss.”

She stood square, glaring into the Grimoire’s front, as if she had the full intent of doing just this: to take the brunt of a dark spell.

Nier was bewildered by the sincerity, holding still. His foes did likewise.

“Give me your most vile curse, you little paperback,” she taunted.

Weiss obliged, cracking open with a whisper that seethed over the raging winds. The men exchanged weary looks, backing away as a force unseen moved over their bodies and coiled in the air around Hamerkop.

Nier watched, his breaths stilling as danger crackled around them. He was enthralled, unable to conceive what Weiss could possibly have in store for this creep.

Wait, but why would—

Quick as a lightning flash, a swirl of red and a glint of silver lunged for Weiss.

A knife—!

Hamerkop slit through Weiss’ white pages, razor biting deep enough to score through to his spine.

Blood erupted from the book, coating the area—everyone—in a thin film of red.

A shrill shriek, so distorted it could’ve been a shade, rocked them before Weiss collapsed.

Nier was stunned.

Hamerkop stooped down, cloak gathering around her, reaching for—

“Weiss!”

Nier burst forward. His spear nearly skewered her through and through, but she slipped the strike with inhuman speed.

Nier stood over Weiss, roaring before he struck again.

Hamerkop slid back further, almost as if carried by some force unseen. A delirious grin spread on her lips, and letters glowed through her clothing, pulsing like a heartbeat.

The men now engaged, but the reach of their swords was not great enough to overcome the fear they had for the tip of Nier’s spear.

One of the shambling host tried to close the gap, but misjudged, sliding in the blood. Nier struck into his shoulder, the man crying shrill, the tone several registers too high.

Another took the moment of opportunity to try and bind Nier’s spear, but Nier was onto him, pivoting away from the flanking.

He returned a blow, backing the man off. Another yet danced within the edges of Nier’s range.

His spear clattered against the dull swords of the mob, all while he desperately put himself between Weiss and the cloaked thief lurking behind her thugs.

Three of the men rushed him at once, and while he struck true on one, delivering a blow to the gut, the spear was bound.

He was forced to ditch the spear, bailing for a moment as he drew _Beastbain_ on them. The opening this left was great, but Nier’s attacker was too slow to capitalize. A great gash Nier carved across the man’s face, and the fool’s knees buckled before Nier slid the blade across a neck rendered vulnerable .

The body collapsed at his feet, and for a moment the others tried to calculate again their approaches. Their numbers were proving to be of bizarrely little consequence.

Why were these guys so sluggish? This was just as easy as fighting shad—

A figure rushed through the sheets of storm, sliding under the awnings.

“CEASE!” the guard shouted, voice strong but only a formality, as he was already drawing his own sword.

He charged the men circling Nier, his blade finding a mark on one of their backs. Once struck, the victim floundered, crying out and retreating, clutching at a seized shoulder.

Nier took his chance, picking up his spear. A brazen foe went for the guard, but before his strike could connect, Nier jabbed the blade of his spear into the back of one of his thighs.

The guard ran the unbalanced adversary through. The man fell before them, bleeding out into the damp platform with a oddly loud whisper of pain.

A terse standoff took place, the guard and Nier leery at the men filtering throughout the cargo and supplies scattered around under the awnings, their number regrouping for another assault, no doubt.

“Monsters!” the guard called out at them as the regrouped. He took a few steps back, muttering, “…taking what isn’t theirs, taking the whole damn village…”

Nier glanced over to make sure Weiss was still there.

All that blood… How was Nier going to even heal all that…?

By all appearances, Weiss looked _dead_ , but Nier could feel the Grimoire’s presence keenly through their bond.

It was weaker now that he actually _focused_ on it.

Nier needed this fight over quick, but these cowards were well behind several stacks of boxes laid up around the center beams.

The guard offered a fleeting glance of acknowledgment toward Nier.

“Damn cultists,” he muttered, and then began speaking to Nier, “look, we’re outnumbered, but I’m gonna try to get you out of here before _she_ shows up. We need backup, could you—” His words died as a sliver of silver danced over his neck.

Nier instinctively lashed out, sending the spear forward to pin whatever had slit the guard’s throat.

But his spear slid through a trail of hazy crimson.

_No…_

Nier watched the trail fan to his left, circling around beneath the awnings. It stopped, letters of red and black dancing around as the cloaked woman reappeared.

This was a Sealed Verse… the phantasmal attack… it was slightly different, but still.

Nier held his spear up defensively, his body steeling by instinct. He knew full well what that spell was capable of.

This cloaked thief was toying with them.

She stood up and stretched forth her hand. The blood began to evacuate the fallen guard’s body, pulled by currents unseen; curling around her fingertips, up her hand, and under her sleeve.

The letters glowing beneath her clothing pulsed ever brighter.

“What a nuisance,” Hamerkop spoke, voice casual as she drew the blood from the guard unto herself, “…playing the hero and trying to save his precious Chief. Now he’s dead, thanks to you.”

The men gathered in the shadows, dissolving from Nier’s vision in the whorls of mist and rain.

Nier picked up Weiss, clutching him to his chest, and looked to the swaying bridges.

Only one way out of this place…

And Nier had to do it _alone._

A heavy object barreled through the air toward him. Nier threw himself to a side. He could feel something graze just over his right arm.

As if he had materialized again from naught, the scale-clad giant was there.

The foe wasn’t unbalanced much by the swing, his stature grounding him, but he didn’t swing again.

Nier’s fingers dug into Weiss. Good. He hadn’t dropped him.

The giant swung again, lazily, making Nier evade further away, watching him scramble and cling to the Grimoire.

He was reveling in this fear…

Hamerkop finished the draw of blood and maligned a laugh as the strength filled her form.

The storm was driving once more, and the bridges bucked as banners snapped and frayed free from the ledges.

Nier grit his teeth.

“ _Never go to the Aerie…”_

He should have listened to his wife.

Nier sprung for the bridge— _the exit_ —and the giant let him, amused by such a plan.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hamerkop’s voice called out to him, “you can’t possibly survive.”

Nier glanced back. The horde crept up closer, the giant was mocking him, and Hamerkop was coming, _strolling_ up to him, gaze locked on Weiss.

Nier wasn’t sure if he could stop her.

An overwhelming fear choked reason. Vividly, he could see the most precious thing in the world being taken from his grasp…

And again—

_Never again._

Nier ran.

He wasn’t looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be cheating a bit with who/what can use magic, but it's a lot more fun this way. It's not like Nier ever becomes self sufficient in it, though.  
> And how about this party?! Is the Aerie a bully mustering ground or something?
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought!


	3. The Little White Bird

Storm raked across the canyon walls, tossing Nier around. The platforms beneath threatened to break up. Whether it was sheer cold rain or hail that hit him, he could not tell.

It was all Nier could manage to stay on the path.

Nier lost his footing, grappling in the wind. He found purchase on some debris, steadying himself.

A sliver of silver, a rusty coat, red—so much red—pierced the mists.

Nier dodged Hamerkop’s strike, falling backwards; falling into the embrace of the gorge.

The depths broiled.

A slender hand gripped the straps over his chest, levering him up to meet a furious grimace.

“Stop _running_ ,” her order boomed over the thunder.

His foothold slipped as the bridge jostled in the wind beneath them. Hamerkop didn’t seem to be moved by the storm.

Nier grabbed a fistful of her cloak and pulled himself back onto the bridge, rolling onto his side. By the time she recovered from surprise, he was already back on his feet, rushing onward.

Not for long. The storm bellowed, and Nier dropped down to his hands and knees, flattening himself as the tumult of winds grew stronger by the second.

The cords tethering the bridge cried out as the winds beat them. The bridge was rolling, threatening to twist completely sideways.

Just one more violent gust and—

To the side of the bridge shields of magic formed. The shields rolled along the windward side like a wave of frozen darkness. They protected it from the wind, a pocket of stilling air in their cusp.

Wait, had Weiss just…? Even in such a state, he could—

“Not… not m-mine,” the sound of the Grimoire’s voice drifted through Nier’s mind, crystal clear above the howl of wind.

Wait… not _his?_ Then—

“You’re going to FALL, _idiot_.” Hamerkop prowled forward.

Her coat rippled ravenously as she swooped at Nier again—taking a stab at his wrist, aiming for his fingers; for how he was holding Weiss.

Nier evaded, but not enough, as a ribbon of red dappled across his collar, just under his neck.

“Fuck! I can’t kill you yet!” she had no filter. She was so frustrated. “ _Stop moving_.”

Nier took the chance and continued his flight, onto the platform before the village’s edge. Just one more bridge. While it had no protection, the structure was more stable. Nier broke into full strides, racing across the platform bearing the faded emblem of the augurs.

He was making for the mine tunnels, once inside he could—

A wall of shadow sprung from the sheets of rain, blocking the path. It was too late to stop. He tried to move around it, but the darkness repelled him with a pulse of energy.

Nier never hit the slicked boards of the platform; he was falling.

Hamerkop watched him fall below, out of sight, her mouth agape.

“Shit!”

Now she had to go flying in a storm. She _hated_ flying in storms. As she came up to the edge to dive off, she caught sight of the haggard warrior.

He was… pinned to the cliff?! How?!

Hamerkop scanned as she teetered on the edge. Many tendrils of darkness coiled around Nier, hauling him back up the cliff.

No! Hadn’t she cut that part of the book?! The Grimoire was still operational, lifting, or rather _dragging_ , Nier to safety.

“I… have…” Weiss rasped, “h-have you…”

Nier was pulled up the rocks, breaths escaping him as the sharp stones clawed through his skin.

“Turn… _now_ ,” Weiss ordered feverishly, and Nier twisted, hooking his hand around the Grimoire himself.

Nier winced. Blood flowed through his fingers as Weiss’ binding sagged open. The lashes of magic were weakening; their connection was throbbing thin.

Oh, God… Weiss was—

A surge of fear. The book struggled to lift his weight. Nier scrambled for purchase, hands pawing through the slick silt of the cliff.

Weiss cried out as he gave Nier one last heave, pushing him to safety. He lost all power to levitate, collapsing in a heap. Even then, Nier continued to crawl forward, clutching the book, not stopping until he reached the rock walls of the mines. He rested against the cold stone, sucking in air, straining to not spasm as his back seized with pain.

Nier stumbled, trying to get up, and practically collapsed once more into the opposite wall.

The rain was still driving. Weiss was limp in his hands. He couldn’t even check the book, the pangs of pain were so immense.

Was the pain from Weiss or was it his own?

“Not bad, but you’re going to run out of gusto eventually.”

Nier glanced up, and saw Hamerkop standing not but several paces from him. He made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl.

Hamerkop just stood there with her hands on her hips; a smirk on her face, her cloak still snapping in the storm—a stark contrast to her lax stance.

Shapes, dark and meandering, were pouring through the rain, rushing toward them.

Nier staggered into the mining passages, wet sandals sliding across the slick, silty floors. He tripped over the abandoned tracks, regaining balance sluggishly.

What was the point… she was right there—walking right there. She didn’t even have to—

Still Nier stumbled away.

Into the damp tunnels, into the deeper passages, into pitch darkness with no grimoire light…

Hamerkop stopped at the entrance, her silhouette growing small as Nier continued in. Once the light disappeared, he had to feel along the walls to continue, listening keenly for the sound of following footsteps.

Blessedly, there were none so far.

…until the sound of shades piqued Nier’s ears.

Dapples of gold glittered against black.

But before he could think, the book spread in his hand. A maw of pages rattled and a mortifying wave of crimson luminance rushed out. A dozen of the creatures fell to the ground, struck by something unseen.

Nier turned his eye to the book, stricken. It was as if he had just willed the shades to die, and so they did.

That wasn’t any Verse he’d heard before.

Nier spotted an immediate cut to the right along the tunnel walls, illuminated by one feeble-flamed torch. Unfortunately the way had been blocked off by a high fence.

Maybe they could—

A dark blast busted down the gate.

Ragged hissing emanated from the open tome. Nier couldn’t even budge Weiss shut, so he had to rest him in the nook of an arm.

Nier limped into the new area, concern growing. He found a rocky nook that looped back out into the open air for ventilation. At the far end of the dark he could see the gray sheets falling. An escape, perhaps…?

If they could continue at all.

He crouched into a corner, obscured from the entry, and caught his breath.

Weiss tried to get up, but Nier pushed him down.

Nier ordered him in a breathless whisper, “s-stop. I’m gonna—” he was going to heal Weiss. Somehow.

This was their only chance.

The book lolled open, the answer a ragged murmur and a sharp inhale, as if struck by pain.

As Nier’s mind cleared, staying still was seeming to become a worse and worse option. Nier knew that the tunnel to his right would lead them back out to the Northern Plains.

“Be quiet, Weiss…”

Immediately, Nier could feel himself being searched by a force unseen.

A pulse, a dark blast, hit him square in the chest.

Nier rolled away, coming to a rest.

_What the…?_

He staggered to his feet, clutching his chest, scouring the cave for _her_.

She wasn’t there…?

He was burning. He returned to Weiss’ side, trying to recall the correct Words. The Verse was beginning to compile in his head, and he was starting to chant the spell in his mind.

If he screwed this up, they could both die. He had to get this right. Nier opened his mouth, lips curving to form the first syllable.

Another blast, under his chin. His head was pounding; his sinuses panged.

_W-what in the… what in the goddamn…!?_

“L-l-l-leave…”

Nier’s body was aglow with fire, energy burgeoning through his veins. He felt light-headed.

“I’m not leaving you!” he hissed and reached for Weiss.

“I-I don’t want-t…”

Another blast sent Nier sprawling.

“…k-kill…”

Nier could barely rise again… He couldn’t fight like this.

_Fuck._

They were going to die. They—

He could hear footsteps approaching.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” he swore under his breath, rising once again, sword strangled in hand.

He wished he could obscure himself just around a corner, but they were already upon him. A misshapen man flashed forward, saber glinting with distant light. Nier deflected the blow.

While he didn’t have enough distance to slash, he did have enough to bring the pommel of _Beastbain_ back to strike. The foe’s head cracked as Nier connected, and glistening wetness accompanied the tinge of sour, fetid blood.

Had that been… _a shade?!_

A brilliant flame forged through the passage, stinging Nier’s eye as he turned to see. A lone man stood, holding the torch on high, the scar across his face twinkling as he gazed beyond Nier.

Nier felt his legs sweep from under him, and next he was face down. He scrambled to get his feet under himself, joints cracking. _Beastbain_ had wrenched from his grasp. He reached for it; a scale-clad boot kicked it away. The boots shuffled, aiming a kick for Nier, but he rolled aside.

_Get up. Get up. Get up._

He was finally back onto his feet when a hand grabbed at the nape of his neck, fingers twisting into his loose, wet hair.

Nier was hoisted to his full height, bent backwards, and caught a glimpse of the giant’s wild grimace just before a fist connected with his face.

Gogga, the scale-clad giant…

He was _living_ for this, eyes aglow with satiation.

Nier was struggling, but still attempted to remove Gogga’s grip on him with taught efficiency. Another punch landed square to his temple, and he was stunned, unable to order his limbs.

Finally, after all these years…

Gogga kept his grip on Nier, dragging the disoriented heap of man to the edge of the tunnel. Below them was a sudden step-down: a cut away. It was just far away enough to give Gogga sufficient time.

The giant hefted Nier over the ledge, letting him tumble into the lower level. Once he hit, Gogga leapt down into the deeper dark, the sound of his fall like a boulder.

Nier couldn’t see, but he felt the thud of impact, and tried to crawl away. Above, upon the ledge, a torch’s light still glowed. The scarred young man bore it, peering into the cut with wide, mortified eyes.

The orange flickering above silhouetted the tower of man who stalked closer. Nier staggered to his feet, and slowly, he was backed into the opposite end of the pit.

“Bring the light down, Dimo,” Gogga ordered the young man.

Nier drew his spear, and it, like his stance, wobbled. Gogga doubted Nier could hold it for long, yet he took a stab at him, aiming for some gap in the giant’s layers of shifting leather scales.

Gogga moved aside of the pathetic lunge, grasping the haft with but one hand. In a single efficient jerk he ripped the weapon from Nier’s grasp, rounding only to throw it to the other end of the pit.

The weapon clattered beside Dimo.

With his back turned to Nier, the giant expected an ambush, and he was correct. He whirled around, catching Nier mid-strike. The man still had some crude dagger up his sleeves—a hunting knife, probably—poised to sink into Gogga’s neck.

Gogga exploded, rushing the gap and driving Nier into the opposite wall. His hand closed around Nier’s with ease, tightening about his wrist with all its protection ‘til he heard cracks.

Finally, Nier’s hand was forced open, the knife falling to the ground.

“Closer,” Gogga ordered Dimo, his voice so oddly free of strain, though… it _distorted_ , shifting closer to something unearthly.

Dimo edged up to them, extending the torch as far ahead as he could.

The stench of blood, of shade, of…

He saw the warrior’s—Nier’s face, swollen. It was unrecognizable. Dimo’s innards lurched, and he felt his throat tighten.

The young man looked into the flames of the torch, blinding himself.

Gogga was savoring this. He let the image of Nier’s disfigurement burn into his mind.

He couldn’t kill Nier. No, the universe was cruel like that. No matter how much he wished to crush this beast’s skull in, this act would have repercussions Gogga couldn’t amend.

Only a true idiot would damn the whole world.

But Gogga could make Nier feel their pain. He’d been practicing for this moment. Ever since this murderer had—

“W-we can’t kill him,” Dimo mentioned, voice thin and weak.

“Oh, I know.”

Hamerkop had promised Gogga his reward, but Hamerkop was a bitch. He had to take this opportunity for himself.

For everyone…

“I’m not gonna kill him.” Gogga tightened a hand at Nier’s throat, watching how he squirmed. “Even if that’s what he deserves.”

Gogga’s grin turned wild; manic. It wasn’t quite cruel. There was no way to express such utter desolation, after all.

“— _after you murdered my sister.”_

Nier’s entire body throbbed, but even through this he choked out disbelief, “I-I don’t… k-kill people—”

“ _Well, you kill shades, right?”_

The giant roared at him, though the sound was far away to Nier.

Nier shifted, his eye watering, fuzziness overcoming him as the giant slowly crushed his neck. Such _inhuman_ strength… It was hard to breathe, hard to think, everything numb, distant—

“ _Ever seen a blind man?”_

“Th-they were never allowed in the village—” Dimo answered, “you’re not g-going to—you can’t kill him!”

“ _Shut up, or I’ll kill you.”_

Gogga focused solely upon Nier, close enough that his decayed breath could be felt. Nier’s strength had all but left him, his struggling feckless as the giant moved a hand to his face.

Slow but sure, a thumb applied pressure to his remaining eye. Nier’s mind reeled as instinct kicked his floundering body into overdrive.

_No… n-no… no, damn you…_

So light-headed, floating—words were spilling from his mouth. His tongue was a puppet, Words flowing… louder—

“ _What was that…?”_

Energy was pulsing through Nier, coiling in his body, abiding by the Words. His brain was too addled by deprivation… some other thing unseen aided his mouth.

A red sheen collected across Nier’s body, catching Gogga’s attention.

“Steady…”

A familiar voice guided Nier.

“Look to your target.”

Nier smiled at the comforting surety, locking Gogga with the strangest grin.

“Now tell me where you want it to go.”

Nier inclined his limp, shaking hand and gently pressed a finger to Gogga’s sternum.

“ _Wh—?!”_

A spire of darkness erupted from Nier’s forearm, plunging into Gogga’s body. A rain of blood drenched the cave behind as it drove through.

“M-m-my…” Gogga gasped, “fl-flesh… m-my body!”

The spire retracted, and Gogga’s grip fell as he staggered backwards.

Nier slumped, chest heaving as he took deep draws. He could see his adversary, the giant, stumbling, reeling… the balding fool was trying to staunch the unstoppable loss, desperate to cling to this carcass.

Nier could think again, marveling… Had this magic come from him? From his own blood?

Gogga’s body flashed, black letters crawling over his skin as nettles, wrapping round his flesh, twisting beneath his clothing. His eyes gleamed in the darkness—sickly gold.

_Die._

A flare of anger gripped Nier, his vision darkened, and red letters danced around like embers, covering his forearms. Fist became claw, embroiled in darkness.

He tackled the giant, battering him repeatedly, Gogga’s skin dappling before flooding with red.

The giant collapsed beneath him, his flesh giving out. Nier opened his hand, claws of darkness unfurling, and he sunk them down into the giant’s chest, through his body, through his heart, down ‘til nail bit the floor.

Gogga’s cry—rage and terror as one—strangled and cut out, forever unfinished.

Nier’s mind was clearer, no longer swimming.

Dimo took a step back; boundless fear made him sore.

“M-monster!”

He drew a sword, shivering as he watched this _beast_ harvest blood from the body of Gogga.

“You’re like _her!_ You’re just like—” the young man screamed as Nier came forward.

He waved the torch, trying to ward him off. There was no way to flee, the sides of this pit were too steep to climb without putting down his weapons.

Dimo was buying time.

The beast of a man had taken in the blood, his flesh restoring; his body mending as a wild fury curled his lips into a snarl. Crimson light danced across his body, lending him the power of augurs, of witches, and monsters yet more diabolic.

The beast picked up his spear, eye latching onto Dimo.

“Stay away from me, I don’t want you to—”

Nier thrust the spear at this man. It was a fake, as he returned with another lunge thereafter.

The torch flame danced, shadows shifting across the cut as Dimo evaded Nier’s strikes.

Nier was still winded, his body healing only so much from Gogga’s fresh fount.

They circled around the pit, and the young man’s desolate face began to twist. He turned to _rage_ … comforting rage at the unknown, the comfort of a man of the Aerie.

Dimo rushed Nier, a final charge.

“DIE YOU FREAK!”

Sword sparked against haft and Nier’s blade punctured his gut. But the young man swung in bitter contempt still.

Dimo stabbed the torch into Nier’s side, flames seeping through his arm guard, the coating keeping it from setting ablaze… but only for so long. Tongues of flame lapped up his side, singing his skin.

Nier twisted the spear, and Dimo shrieked, his torch dropping.

The young man tried to speak, but his tongue failed him. Only hate passionate sieved through, spit in silent curses past grinding teeth.

Nier pushed the young man off his blade.

The body fell with a thud. No motion; no life.

Nier stood still, letting the fresh blood of the young man flow to him over currents unseen. The torch on the ground began to dim, drowning in the rainwater trickling in from the opening at the end of the tunnel.

_Killing… just like breathing._

Nier pulled himself up the side of the cut, wincing at his wounds. He could scarcely see, but he didn’t need to to know that Weiss wasn’t there anymore.

The area was hollow. Nier searched, and only caught a distant snatch of Weiss’ presence.

Echoes… a commotion… Weiss’ vast aura concealed by layers of stone.

Nier reclaimed _Beastbain,_ metering his breaths.

He rushed down the tunnels, trying to divine which routes would lead him to Weiss. He came to a stop, inclining his ear to a cavernous tunnel beside. A distant chant ebbed, ringing the coils of stone and steel in empty tones.

Nier followed the sound.

The incantations led him deep; deeper into the mines, down underground. Heat was rising; a fire began to bloom. Not from himself or the warmth of the earth, but from somewhere else, infecting his core.

The sounds of rending scattered from stone to stone; ravening snarls mingling with shrill cries.

Nier slipped, catching himself on a steel strut. The floor was wet. He could see somehow without light. Fragments of what was once a man littered the passage.

The aroma of rotting flesh filled the tunnel. His grip tightened as his teeth grit. He waited for his stomach to ease its churning.

Currents of red and gold began to manifest in the darkness, illuminating the blood of shades and the flesh of men.

Nier had never seen such a thing…

Foul air sweetened, and his mouth watered. Nier kept going, ignoring the strange predilections which threatened to overwhelm him.

The chanting was no longer lonely, as sounds brilliant and mesmerizing began to chime around him like instruments.

The air was so sweet… so _sickeningly_ _sweet_.

Panic set in as the hateful song stalked. It whispered horrific things in an unknown tongue. The chant was filling him like suffocating smoke.

_Their bond…_

Nier’s blood pumped furiously. Pain. So much pain. As if he were tearing apart… as if they were—were tearing apart…buckle of metal and sinew rending, skin askew and pulling apart, liner and glue torn and—

Nier clutched at his gut. An irrational fear gripped him… and a clear vision of his own entrails falling to the floor played through his mind.

A wave of nausea took his balance. He staggered in the darkness, the sight unseeing flickering. Nier closed his eye tight, bent over himself, waiting for it to pass.

A voice, low and rumbling, bellowed through the tunnels, shaking the rafters. Nier eyed the ceiling, instinct overriding the sickness taking him. But as he glanced around in uncertainty, a gleaming light caught in his periphery. Nier turned to face the light; the trails of red and gold paled in its presence.

He had no idea what he was seeing.

Was this a true star…?

A lance burst through the air beside him, ripping down the tunnel, out of sight. Its whirled wake left a spattering of moisture, remnants of perhaps what it had felled.

“WEISS!”

Nier kept close to the wall as he approached the blistering light, hoping that no more lances would come whistling by. The closer Nier got, the more dense the miasma became. It was getting hard to breathe without gagging.

Shadows dappled through the orb of white light ahead. Crowned shards of blood magic rained upon them, masking the strange voice that chanted. The voice never faltered, though it moved to and fro in the dark.

The shield of white encased Weiss and protected him. It hummed vibrantly as wicked blades materialized from the dark, wreathed in sickly magic. The weapons crashed over the shield’s circumference.

Nier kept _Beastbain_ in hand, approaching silently. They were attempting to wear down the Grimoire’s shield. He couldn’t let that happen.

A fell utterance, familiar in voice, but indecipherable by word, came from Weiss. He charged the men, bashing them aside like gnats.

Weiss was even further away now, led deeper into the mines. Nier’s lips curled into a scowl. He kept following.

A striking silhouette danced between Nier and the aura of white. Hamerkop, with her ragged cloak, was unmistakable… and it was _her_ voice filling the tunnel.

Nier crept swiftly, desiring nothing more than to silence her song.

Weiss whipped around on her. The blinding light barreled forward, and disappeared for a moment, plunging all of them into complete darkness.

A hand of scarlet ripped down through the air, stabbing its claws into the earth. The whole tunnel shook, earth and rock showering Nier and all else.

A reprieve of silence took the air.

The chant had ceased.

Nier stood, and in the moment of sheer dark, saw a radiance, gilded and crimson streaming through the dark.

Footsteps—a rabid gasp—Weiss was in distress.

The shield of white reformed, blocking Hamerkop’s hands from seizing Weiss. Nier sprung forward, striking as she was still recovering from the block.

_Beastbain_ sought flesh yet found cloak. A section of the garment fell to the ground, but still the woman slipped away.

Hamerkop sidestepped each attack, carried on the currents of crimson. Her gaze was gleaming, alive and absorbing every moment of torment.

She cried out in Word; in oppressive Song.

Nier shouted and railed against her, no longer lent to reason. But as the Song marched from Word to Word, from Verse to Verse, the white glow was fading.

Nier swung into the black, chasing currents of magic desperately.

_End it. End it now._

It was too much to bear. The beacon of light shattered, glittering like stars, and a rush of wind was left in the Grimoire’s wake.

Weiss had… run away…? That didn’t make sense. Why would he leave Nier’s side?!

Confusion had Nier in its clutches.

Hamerkop’s song came to an abrupt halt, and the lull was a short reprieve as a breathless laugh escaped her. The augur pursued, trail of crimson faster than Nier could ever hope to sprint.

But Nier kept going.

_Wait for me…stop it… this is what she wants. This is—_

Hamerkop’s song carried on, growing sharper, louder, overpowering the rumbling voice Nier knew so intimately.

The Song shrieked into Nier’s mind, consuming his thoughts. Words writhed through every sense and perception. All that rose above the Song was the will to _flee_.

Nier wanted to run. He wanted to hide. He wanted to disappear. He wished for the mine to collapse on him. He couldn’t take it.

His very sense of self was dissipating.

And then, it left him. The fear overwhelming, the loss of his thoughts. Nier could no longer hear the Song.

Only silence…

Hamerkop was out of earshot.

He never wanted to hear that ever again. But how could Weiss face that alone?

Nier just started moving, running, pushing himself forward.

What the hell was wrong with him?! What the hell was this magic?! How could it screw with someone so bad it turned their whole personality around, made someone like himself scared and weak-willed and—

Nier focused on running.

He skidded to a stop, light returning to the depths. A room opened up before him, a nexus of many different tunnels converging on a clearing. A great rift in the ceiling lent its light to this lowly place, to the ground of sharp rock and flowers who feasted on decay.

Nier’s eye ached as it met the light, making it harder yet to see.

Amidst the growth, a coat of rust and golden thread glimmered, just as a slit of silver razor gleamed in a blood smeared hand.

Hamerkop was stalking toward Weiss, having cornered the Grimoire.

A few more of the men emptied out from alternate tunnels, as if they had laid in wait for this very moment.

The breadth of the operation was only just now dawning on Nier. Not that it made a difference. He was going to kill every last one of them…

…starting with _her_.

As Nier sprung forward, magic unfurled from Weiss. Solid spires of darkness shot out in an array like the petals of a flower, skewering all her men. Each one of them was lifted up high into the air, blood emptying from their bodies like rain as their spirits left their corpses.

Hamerkop was unharmed, bent around a spire intended to skewer her likewise. She twirled around, face full of wonder as she beheld what must have been the world’s grandest dark execution.

Nier was agape.

He’d… never seen anything like this…

Slowly, to the tune of mere whispers, the spires of darkness returned to Weiss’ tatters.

“I see the Sealed Verses were not wasted on you,” Hamerkop’s voice was glowing as she spoke to Weiss, and she utterly missed the steps fast approaching her, “you’re going to be perfec—”

A new fount flowed, _Beastbain_ sating itself at last in her rich, wretched flesh. She howled in agony, her side bursting around the glimmering sword. Nier leaned his full weight into the plunged blade.

He twisted the sword, the ceremonial razor falling out of her hand, and he kept leaning in ‘til her eyes rolled up into her head.

Hamerkop fell away from him, _Beastbain’s_ thin edge releasing its hold of her flesh with a shimmering squelch.

Nier’s chest heaved, and he stared blankly at the woman splayed on the ground, her gilded cloak spread like wings around her, soaking up deep tones of red as her side flowed.

Nier stumbled away, mind turning with deliberation to Weiss.

“W-Weiss…? Are you…?”

Something shrieked, and Nier’s mind sprung by instinct, preparing for battle with shades.

Yet the shriek turned to laughter. It was familiar, but Nier didn’t know where from…

“Weiss… I think—”

Wait, was that…

No. It couldn’t be.

Nier held his guard up, pivoting to look to where Weiss had been hanging in the air. He wasn’t there.

The thin sound of madness reverberated through the many interconnecting tunnels of the nexus.

Th—the library, at Emil’s. The red book…

No. No no no no no no. Impossible. That would never happen. This could never happen.

Nier scoured the area, catching movement. Weiss was above him now, a ragged, grating sound emanating.

Tendrils lashed out and fed from the bodies encircling the Grimoire, streams of the viscera arcing through the air, flushing with black.

Nier cried out over the horrific sound of it, “WEISS!”

But the cry was not heard.

Weiss ensconced himself in whirlwinds of pages, bringing each layer around himself as if they were feathered wings.

“Hey! Listen to me, damn it!” Nier tried to reason. “Calm down!”

Each member of the host of pages contorted into a spiral, shooting off toward—toward Nier!

The attack did not tell friend from foe.

“Stop it, Weiss!” Nier raced away from the blasts. A hail of red magic began to flow from Weiss, in orbs, like a common shade…

“She’s dead! You can stop!” Nier’s voice ached from shouting. “Wake up!”

As he raced around the room, evading the mindless assault, Hamerkop marveled.

She marveled at how incomprehensibly foolish Nier was to not have stabbed her through the heart. Had the northern witch never shared to him that this was how you killed others like her… like augurs?

It was of little consequence. The Words printed into Hamerkop’s flesh were working, covering her wounds. Though feeble compared to the full will of a living tool like the Grimoire, it would suffice and play medic.

She just needed a patch. That was all.

They were so close to realizing paradise!

The Grimoire’s presence was firmly under her hand. She could feel him as he still made weary attempts to rebel, lashing out at every thing and every _one_.

The maddened fury of the Alpha was nothing like the Gamma, nor the Omega. It was not bright and manic as leaping flames nor dark and hideously joyous, but it was deep and bitterly vengeful… like the roiling ocean.

She brushed against this spirit of the ancients, and it swirled dense with calculations, with intention, with drive…

So purposeful, so terrible…

The master craft of humanity, key to unlocking the world’s potential… right here, bridled by her Song.

It was almost a shame to classify it as a tool. But she could empathize, being a tool herself.

Years spent accumulating and translating verses, going so far as to even mark them into her own flesh… following her ancestral spirit’s guidance to the letter.

The Alpha, the White Text, even at the bare operating capacity of pages, exhibited tenacity beyond expectation.

It was so angry—it… was it… _crying_? It’s processes were overrun, and it was issuing commands to kill, striking out blindly in some wild hope to…

…save _something…?_

But the _something_ was a null field.

She swept her cloak over herself, the garment playing shield to his relentless attacks. In but a few moments, she would be able to stand again… and calm the storm.

Hamerkop had never encountered anything of this magnitude as it unleashed its gamut. The book was alive with spells, brimming with Words that unveiled whole new Verses! She’d never even heard some of these before, much less sung them.

How terrifying!

How wonderful!

What she could save herself with such a tool… what she could bring to pass…

She had to have him, she had to have this book!

It wasn’t even for the world now, it was for her.

Hamerkop alone!

This is mine.

This _was_ mine.

I made this! I wrote this! I brought this to pass!

No one, no thing, could stand in her way.

But still, the idiotic warrior, Nier, tried to still the raging White Text.

“I’m not losing you, Weiss! I don’t care what happens, I’m not going anywhere!” Nier was at his end. “There is nothing left to fight, there’s nothing—”

Nier caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

He saw the cloaked woman rise. Her body scintillated with a ruddy sheen as the Words carved upon her continued their spells.

“Oh, Goddamnit! I KILLED YOU!” He pointed at Hamerkop accusingly.

She inclined her furrowed face, finally focusing on him. A winded chuckle came out.

“You sorely underestimate the resilience of a vessel, Ni—” a dark blast nailed her, shutting her up.

Nier wondered if Weiss was back to himself, but the hail of magic still came for him in turn. He dodged away from the indiscriminate layers of orbs falling from the Grimoire.

Hamerkop was having difficulty staying on her feet, her sluggish movements leaving her helpless in the swirling waves.

Nier was so happy that she was finally taking hits, but as the room began to fill with the magic, Nier stopped paying her any heed.

There was no way Weiss could sustain this.

The coils of magic beat like the cadence of a heart. The air was crystallizing, tones gliding throughout.

Nier resolved to march into the center of the storm. He would walk up to Weiss and clamp him shut with his own two hands if it took it. _Beastbain’s_ broadside served as Nier’s shield, and the tip of his spear skewered the orbs of magic streaming from the epicenter.

He slipped into the grooves of patterns, cutting through waves. Nier wasn’t sure if he was even on the right course anymore, as to every side and even overhead was naught but blinding scarlet. He could no longer rely on the pull of their bond. The connection had ceased to draw them together, only whispering mad ravings into his mind.

But that didn’t matter. Nier was coming for Weiss no matter what. The book would have to devour his arms and legs to stop him!

As Nier warred through the waves, a gap in the magic, cleaved asunder by he gave Hamerkop a chance to collect herself. She scrambled up to all fours, mind swimming, feeding directly from the Grimoire’s spiral of torment. Her fingers curled like claws as she rose to her feet.

As the next bout of the onslaught came, she ripped wildly through with hand alone. She snarled and spat as the fabric around her forearms singed and melted deep, twisting with muscle and warming her bones. The letters engraved loomed effulgent through cracking, weeping skin.

Hamerkop flung herself to the epicenter, a phantasm of glistening crimson. Weiss’ scarlet coils splashed aside in wisping waves as she charged him.

The magic ceased.

Nier breached through the last of it, vision blurred and pulsing. He staggered to a stop, his dry throat failing to utter anything.

Hamerkop had Weiss, clamped shut in her fingers. Her tendons glinted like the gold thread of the remnant of her cloak, her face contorted into a wild grimace as her flesh had shrunk and peeled from the heat.

Nier rasped in rage, near silent, raking the spear along the ground before hefting it high. He aimed for the heart of this wretched thief.

She stared dead on at Nier, fearless, holding the White Text in a hand that should have long since stopped its functions.

After so many years…

Finally.

She parted her mouth, uttering with burnt tongue the last bar of the Song.

A great light engulfed them…

Dark and Light to become one, to prove that they were the same.

And so the salvation of spirits through vessels would begin.

the salvation

the sal…va… vage

s—salvage

salvageable

code

encode

decode

* * *

DECODE INITIATED

AURAL LINK ESTABLISHED

PARSING INPUT

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well, that just happened.
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> Thank you for reading!   
> Let me know what you thought, if you like!


	4. An Afterthought

* * *

DECODE COMMENCED

FUSION UNDERWAY

TRANSMISSION ASSEMBLING

* * *

He tasted ashes.

The scent was familiar.

And somehow, despite it all, a comfort.

He savored the ashes of what once was whole.

These Words were stolen, transferred from their rightly home to a palace of hate. They clamored for his attention— _intolerably foul_.

Though a complex miasma of riddle, he could perfectly divine the mesmerizing code. A distant wish was spoken close to his heart.

It knew him so well.

“… _listen...”_

The soft whisper was—

“… _understand…”_

He knew the voice—they were—

“… _know…”_

A cavern in the earth, filled with the machinations of the ancients, unfolded around. Satin blues chased the abyss as pyres of rusted glory pierced the near infinite depths.

Rows and rows and rows sprawled through labyrinths, all this automation devoted to futile pursuits. But ever on the heart of molten earth churned, and from it forged the master-less automatons and the purposeless tools.

The Black Text had no charge. His service had begun and ended as he had damned some poor old woman so long ago, in some nameless supermarket, many miles away.

For hundreds of years he had roamed the earth, bereft of any identity—a failure. The mission inscribed with a brand of hot iron upon his preface could never reach completion.

No Alpha for Omega.

No Decoder for Encoder.

No White for Black.

Some salvaged instinct had drawn this failure, the Black Text, to his birthplace… to destroy it. No being deserved to be trapped in this mortal cycle forever. The lurching steel mechanisms, the rolling presses, and the element incubators that had created him would give life no more.

He saw to complete this self-inflicted mission, all while his inscriptions crawled through his pages, rotting his contents and gnarling his Verses.

The Black Text’s rampage through the factory wracked the labyrinth to its core, drawing automatons from deeper yet.

…targets for his unholy wrath.

Great bouts of magic expelled from within, mowing through their host with sickening ease.

Iron twisted and the machines’ guts sprung from inside in clots of fume and fire. The wanton slaughter pleased something rooted deep within the Black Text’s pages, and the metallic grin of his decorations bent, ever more gleeful.

Awakened from his lust, he was, when he heard cries. Creatures, not machines, lived down in the dark.

They were as shadows, black and shivering sickly gold.

The Black Text had terrified these creatures. The adults of their host were ready to lay down their lives to defend what was precious to them. Evacuation plans were spoken in multitudes of tongues. Many little feet rushed away from him, wailing at the notion that their loved ones would perish—for their sakes.

As the miserable shadows lamented, imagining how they would be consumed, drained dry of life by the Grimoire, the book was overwhelmed by a new sensation.

The Black Text trembled with joy.

_My purpose!_

The Grimoire offered himself to this bastion of the forgotten. He would be guard of the refuge of Shadows, deep in the bowels of the abandoned factory.

They were shocked that he could parse their tongue.

But the creatures accepted his offer, coming to depend on his presence to ward away the beasts of the day.

The shadows gathered within the factory, clinging to one another through word, through deed, and charity. With work, with play, sport or shared melody, the community bloomed in this deepest haven. Humanity beamed through their imperfect forms.

The Black Text watched the network form. Slowly, they enfolded him into their society. For once, he could forget that he was but a mere tool with no hand to guide him.

For a few blessed moments, he would simply be “ _Nero_ ”.

But still, as happy as they were compared to the ones who were slaughtered outside these walls, they were still broken and fearful of the monsters who stalked in daylight.

Nero, as he had become, wished desperately for the day their salvation would arrive. Somewhere out there, a purposeful version of himself was carrying out the mission, guided by the arms of Humanity’s wisdom, accompanied by the Perfect Shadow.

Nero had to hope such a fantasy existed.

He—he loved the shadows. Many he knew by name, each written upon dark pages with his white ink.

It was why he defended their domain so viciously. Scarcely a beast could foray near the entrances to the factory without turning to a slush of flesh.

That was also why it was so utterly shocking that a monster was in their midst— _inside_ the factory—that day.

Nero tracked the stench of the living, drawing upon the beast as it scuttled through chamber and pipe. He hovered high above, glowering down through the grates. He caught snatches of movement. The beast of day shifted around, scouring the twisting tubes and zig-zagging piles of supplies with its strange, keen eyes.

Nero drew below the criss-crossing paths above, presenting himself with pride.

The beast sluggishly turned to greet him, its disposition serene and breezy, as if the low-lit entrails of the facility encompassing were as harmless as a summer’s day.

“What shall be your last words before you perish, vessel?” Nero’s voice grated low, like the churning of rusted gears.

The beast’s gaze flicked to him, scanning his features with a tip of its head. A smile spread across its face. Nero had never been regarded with such an expression of glee.

It was a female, of standard stature with gaunt frame. The only remarkable feature was the elaborately decorated cloak draping its meager mantle. Nero detested its raiment. Such a garment was meant for a Lord or King, not some errant beast!

“Answer me!” he shouted down the corridor.

Unshaken by the Grimoire as he oozed dread, the beast used its voice, “you’re just who I was hoping to meet!”

“Strange last words,” Nero said as he summoned a pitch-dark sphere of blood.

The sphere came alive with energy and wildly spread, revealing its mass to be many times what it was perceivably. Wave-patterns grew exponentially sharper as they accelerated away from the center. In a flash, the corridor filled with spires of black, puncturing every surface, skewering through solid steel and concrete and… naught but the facility’s structure.

The spires retreated back, leaving gashes and furious spewing pipes in its wake.

_Wait, where had the beast—_

A razor slipped through Nero’s spine.

Nero roared with anger, wicked spires rising from the ground as he rounded, each point eager for fresh blood.

His life force was merely trickling from the fine mar, but a mar it was all the same. This mere beast had evaded and countered the great Grimoire Nero!

How had it known that the safest spot was to be beneath him during such a strike? Most beasts fled away from the attack, not into i—

The cloaked beast laughed at him and fled, clanging clumsily like all beasts did, racing deeper into the factory.

Nero had no need for scent, he just followed the racket.

A sweet scent began to roil around the corridors he chased through. And before long, he could hear the sounds of—

His people! This monster was slaughtering the spirits due salvation.

_How dare it?!_

By the time he flew into the room, all was gone save a meager few spatters of blood. Their essences had already floated on to other planes.

He had no time to mourn.

Nero burst down a gate, a wall, and all else in his path, barreling toward the beast.

He came to a halt, the beast’s trail fanning out before him. A strange sound, a hummed song of some annoying sort, began to come from this creature’s lips. It insulted him, biting into his magic like a mosquito.

This demon-beast was somewhere in the room. He closed the hatch, sealing them both within. There would be no escape for this beast. Its running would end.

No.

Its _life_ would end. Nero was going to rip out its throat, _end_ its song... No one dared to cross a grimoire, much less the might of Grimoire Nero.

The room was rife with discarded heaps of unused salvage and metal crates, piles of half-broken pallets bridging over the majority. Cables and half-folded tarps were strewn about, as if whomever had departed long ago had done so in a rush.

He stalked the perimeter, searching just as much by sight, scent and sound, as with a force unseen. Traces of magic sifted through, coloring the air in faint streams of gold and red.

Nero had never seen a beast capable of holding this much magic.

“What a nuisance…” he muttered, peering through several rows of crate.

He bristled, opening his pages. He knew just the spell to cast to ensure the beast perished in the room. It was a hard-sought Verse, an aberration of the magic that held conjures like lances and shields. It fletched shards of solid element, barely discernible from shards of glass, and suspended them in the air. Fine enough to breathe, but dense enough to maim and cut lung and all passages connecting.

The beast would choke on that song it sung, and drown in its own blood.

Foul magic gathered unto him the power to bring the wicked to pass. A strange hum emanated from him, and whispers inhabited the room. Syllable by syllable, Word by Word, the Verse—

A razor passed through him, bursting through his back, breaking him. Black pages, white letters—

Dozens of fragments fluttered down to the floor.

The world spun, his thoughts choked.

Nero fell to the ground, inanimate.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t _think_ to speak. His sway over language was ailing fast, eroding the movements of his mind.

The beast cut his tongue! The organ was hanging by a thread.

The woman padded over to him, kneeling beside his limp form. Her cloak spread around her, the patterns of golden circles glinting as the emergency lights washed the room with rose.

She scooped the book up, cradling his broken binding, leaving him splayed open.

Nero’s voice stuttered, “u-u-unhand-d me, b-be-beast!”

“You’re _perfect_ ,” she whispered.

She freed her other hand from the depths of her cloak, exposing tawny, splotched skin. Gently she flipped through his contents, scouring for something very, _very_ special.

The names of the ancients were scrawled over where his encoding processes should have been.

“Writing down the names of shades,” she observed, “I’ve been told you were always antisocial. So… that’s abnormal. Cute, though.”

“Y-you will-llll…” Nero’s voice lagged as his mind raced, “d-d-die by—by m-my… p-p-pa-pa-paaa—aaages…”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, and then ripped him in half.

The shout was of such volume his vocal channel plateaued, just before shutting down altogether. The ragged edges where his hinges had once been began to ebb.

The world was distant. Logic processes ceased.

_Who… was he…?_

The book’s textblock dangled between two halves on its sinewy backing. Individual pages twitched alive, others laid dormant, and a strange, black ichor seeped from the exposed core of his lining—the guts of the Grimoire that writhed with coils of magic.

She carried him over to a nice industrial table she had espied earlier. It was as good as anywhere else, and she had the inkling he wouldn’t stay fresh for the duration of a trip back to the Aerie.

She kept him at arm’s length, preferring to not get bled on too awful much. Grimoire ichor was extremely potent, and also equally hard to remove from a garment once it soaked in.

Her workstation was just cleared off as an utterance was spoken directly into her mind.

… _damn you…_

“So you speak in my head…?” she said aloud, and ripped a page out of him, laying it aside in an orderly fashion, “I’m surprised you can still do that.”

… _monster…_

Nero’s ability to maintain emotional highs was all but invalidated by the damage to his body; his senses were declining too.

He was dying.

Yet something deep within stubbornly demanded an answer.

… _why…_

“Everything I need. It’s right here, written in you, just like my spirit told me it would be,” the woman explained, indifferent as she kept pawing through his body, “maybe you really aren’t pointless, huh?”

… _my purpose is—the shadows…_

She ripped a fistful of pages from him. He waned, anguish choked through compromised, static-filled vocal channels.

… _th-they need me—they need…_

“Don’t worry, little book,” she assuaged as she took her razor to a particularly stubborn page. The sharp blade fit perfectly in the grooves, filleting him with ease. “Your mission will be completed, and your little shades will be saved.”

The razor’s edge slid through the pulsing tendrils of magic that were latching onto his most vital pages, clutching for them pitifully.

This was a defense mechanism, Nero guessed. He was sure he was never intended to need to do this—to lean on automated magic which desperately groped to keep the final pieces of his body bound together.

… _s-stop…_

She ignored him, taking up the pages she had gathered and ordered them without a hint of urgency. Nero could no longer see, nor even move the force unseen to probe her workings.

But he could still feel _the pages_ , like phantoms, even as they had been cleaved from his covers. By his count, there were more stolen than within him by now.

… _thief…_

A fount of magic erupted, blistering all remaining sense. She held the page to her forearm, whispering a foreign chant to it. Nero squirmed, and the paper of the page dissolved, his Words hanging in the air, each letter bright as a star.

The letters fell to her flesh and transferred their power, burning deep… the sweet stench of boiling blood washed over Nero.

… _my body, m-mine…_

He begged and pleaded, but she continued transferring his Words to herself, ringing her body with marks of his power, his Verses, his… _everything_.

He was halved, quartered, and cut further down, covers laid apart, pages in piles, extracted slowly, at her leisure. A web of vein-like strands furiously pulsed, interconnecting him with visible currents of magic, working to sustain the life bound within the book.

She mused over the dissected grimoire. No wonder these tools could survive for over one thousand years.

She was proud of the book’s defiance—his will to survive. They were alike.

… _please stop, please…_

“What are you afraid of? Isn’t this what you always wanted Grimoire Noir?”

… _Noir…? …my name is not…_

The sound of her voice was hideously close, “I’m going to fuse you to your better. I will complete you.”

… _don’t need…the White…_

“You poor, poor thing. I’m sorry you got so far away from your purpose, being trapped down here,” she spoke down to him as her skin scorched, criss-crossed by flesh-writ Verses.

Her voice was one that Nero did not find entirely unfamiliar, “you were chosen to fulfill a duty. You don’t get the luxury of a life. Neither you nor I do, in fact.”

… _lies…_

The soul that infected this book was stubborn.

It would not yield itself to her.

She was proud, and any lesser than she herself would have been unnerved. But her spirit told her that this was to be expected of the soul of the Black Text.

He had been selected by virtue of such ferocity.

… _w-who…_

She took pause, sucking in a breath as a whole page of Words plunged into her skin.

… _who…are you…_

“Me?” she answered, stopping long enough to whisper the chant that took word from page, “I’m Hamerkop, a mere vessel.”

This told Nero nothing. There was more. She was so… _familiar_. Something was wrong.

Something was so so wrong.

He shouted, the missive spreading through all his pages, seeping into the pool that she was lending onto herself.

The process was nearly complete, her whole body arcing with runes, with symbols, with his _fear_.

“My spirit must be who you’re asking about, little book. She is greater than us,” Hamerkop mentioned casually, peeling free one last page she had forgotten from his lining. “I think she liked you. Back then…”

There was no pain. Nero’s sense of this had faded. But still, he strained to hear.

“—a doctor, I think—”

The connection to sound was cutting in and out.

“—my spirit only—”

All of the Grimoire’s periphery had shut down, and the last few pulses of magic spread.

“—summoned when called—”

The deeply rooted part of him was laid bare. It soaked up the last things he would ever hear.

“—your Author—”

* * *

FAILURE TO PARSE

FOREIGN INPUT

DECODE SUSPENDED

CONNECTION LOST

* * *

Her skin was cracked like dried earth, black as a shade’s. Her bloody eyes could not focus, flitting aimless of their own accord. A ragged breath escaped her lungs, exhale coiling in wisps of vapor.

A cruel spear was thrust through her chest, fissures sprawling around like veins.

The hum of the magics engulfed them all, attuned to the throbbing light, flowing through the woman and through Weiss.

The ill fusion cast off lashes of pure, unfiltered element, breaking the stones around, threatening to collapse this cavern.

How this man, this warrior, this _idiot_ could bear to stand—to drive a spear into her heart—

… _impressive,_ Hamerkop thought, _perhaps he does not underestimate the resilience of a mere vessel._

“I-I…” she trembled as she spoke to Weiss, a smile cracking her lips, exposing retracted gums, “I r-really… messed all this up, huh?”

Hamerkop turned to Nier, all the Words upon her glowing bright as the sun.

“ _Y-you… win.”_

The corona burst, spires of light bleaching the world snow white as harmonics rocked the earth beneath.

Nier ducked his head, dropping down into a defensive stance. Coils of burning steam slammed across his already scoured skin, and the sound filled his body, innards vibrating as if he were a drum. The spear he held began to heat up, and he dropped it with a wince.

The intensity waned, and the sound subsided. His ears rang horribly, and for a time, long after it was over, he sheltered himself in this stance.

Nier took in a deep breath, checking himself slowly, running his hand over his scalp, over his arms, his core… the spear that had been thrust through the augur was glowing red, its tip melted and twisted into an alien shape.

He raked his gaze to the center, and there was naught left, save an ungodly stench and a few scattered remnants of red slop plastered all around.

The cavern was empty. Even the plants that had grown there were reduced to ash.

Blackened striations snaked out from the epicenter.

Nier’s stomach twisted.

“W-Weiss…?”

He crawled forward, hoping. He shuffled through the upheaval, tracing his hand under stone and through the soot and embers.

Nier steeled his shivering, his jaw clamping over and over as he searched. He twirled around, thinking maybe… maybe he was…? Maybe he…?

Nier had to be thorough. He didn’t want to run off and miss him. He had to be thorough. Quite thorough. That’s what Weiss would say.

He stumbled around the center of the blast, eye scanning methodically as his heart raced.

A strip of gore, a pile of ashes… Nier dug in, ripping his fingers through the flesh. It burned him, but he didn’t pay heed.

As he dug deeper, pawing at pile after pile, he brushed familiar ridges.

 _Filigree_.

Heart in his throat, Nier fell to his knees, pushing aside dirt, uncovering a corner.

He shoved the upturned stones aside and freed an edge. Nier would’ve pulled him out, but the _heat_. Even grazing his side, Nier’s fingers ached, blistering.

Nier could scarcely look at Weiss. His metallic decorations were glowing white hot.

He laughed at that, humorless, “so… you can,” he swallowed, “…you can turn white after all.”

Nier got up and found _Beastbain_ as it laid forgotten on the ground and walked back over to Weiss, and began to carefully use the blade to remove him from the pack of ashen earth.

Nier muttered little things, talking to himself, hoping for a reply.

What else could he do?

Nier managed to coax Weiss free, gently sliding him out onto an even remnant of the floor. The heat dissipated with uncanny speed, the Grimoire’s swirling patterns turning from white to gold to auburn, resting longest on ember red.

Nier waited.

He didn’t know what to do. Could he check to see if he—? Nier couldn’t remember not knowing for sure if he was still… _there_. They’d had their odd little voodoo bond so long, it was bizarre without it.

So, was its absence indicating that…?

What was he talking about?! Weiss couldn’t die, he was made out of pape—

“Oh, Goddamnit…!” Nier relented, gritting his teeth.

As Weiss cooled further, Nier’s eyes could finally focus on the rest of him, at the living leather where the damage had been dealt. Weiss’ binding was bent, cracked severely where the razor had scored. A glistening fissure spread, silver clasps unbuckled on the back where the rending had torn him nearly in two. Stringy, black ichor was seeping from the wound.

Nier shook his head. What could he do…? What the hell could he do?! _Why was he so useless?!_

And then, a pull… Nier had to steady himself, palms hitting the ground.

It was like someone grabbing a fistful of rope, except it was his _being_ that was grasped. A full weight pulled now, taking Nier’s breath away. The pull brought him low, as something used him as a tether, dragging itself to safety.

Weiss sputtered alive.

“Weiss!” Nier was overjoyed.

“I killed—” the Grimoire strangled with rage, transforming into terror. “—I KILLED THEM. I KILLED ALL OF—EVERY ONE—”

Weiss’s gaze of silver was alive, and he tried to take to the air, but as he did fresh scarlet sprayed out of the wounds in his binding.

Nier came forward and pinned him to the ground with his forearm, the leather sizzling at the touch.

Weiss continued to try and rise, and Nier had to put his whole weight into him.

The Grimoire was alive, and he was _strong._ Nier could feel him again. This wasn’t his full force, but it wasn’t ghostly faint, either!

Was this a miracle…?!

“Stop!” Nier pleaded with the thrashing Grimoire as reality set in. He was losing his grip on him. “I have to heal you. Stop it, Weiss!”

Nier hoped that he could hear him. The woman was gone, so surely—

Weiss fell back to the ground, limp.

Nier panted, still firmly pinning him. “Can you hear me?”

The Grimoire’s silver gaze flashed, his eternal frown twitching with life. Weiss stared at him, and then his eyes went from a foggy finish to glinting silver.

“…Nier?”

He could hear him now! Yes!

“Stop. Just stop,” Nier spoke to him, low and firm, never breaking eye contact. “They’re gone. And you’re hurt, Weiss. I gotta heal you.”

Nier could feel the excruciation ghosting through his core, shivers of pain racking his organs.

“Weiss?”

Finally, Weiss answered, “you—you can’t, Nier… I’m all expended. I-I—”

Nier had never been more glad to hear that drone. Even if he was telling him, yet again, something he couldn’t do, when in fact, he _could_.

Nier had blood of his own, power of his own. He could fix this.

He turned around and grabbed _Beastbain_ once more.

The whole room was void of blood, the hellish deed that the augur had tried to pull saw to that. So Nier made do and slit his blistered hand, recalling the words of healing as the fluids issued out.

“No…! Don’t you d-d-d…” Weiss protested, “I c-c-can’t—sp-spea—k…”

“Don’t move.” Nier was stern.

Weiss was finding it hard to focus, he couldn’t let Nier do this alone. He—he was so vulnerable.

If he failed…

But it wasn’t like they had a choice. The ichor oozing from his broken spine was a… _bad sign_ , to put it lightly.

Nier began to hum and cupped his hand around the wound on Weiss, his blood mingling with the ichor. Red letters danced around, taking hold of his gift and transforming it to something _other_.

And then Nier began to sing.

It was crude and rudimentary; strange and halting. The procession of syllables was torturous as it was tenuous. Weiss hung on every portion. But even with such difficulty, the book lightened, and his components began to replenish and mend back to what they once were.

Nier’s voice surged to support the spell, and the blood continued to flow directly into Weiss. The book’s leather kneaded twain in rough, strange patches, and the metal bands hanging by threads of magic alone were affixed with security to him yet again.

Weiss hated this.

He _loathed_ it.

Every Word Nier spoke and every drop he lent dragged him further into the pit. This was why his wife had never taught him of the arcane.

Songs of ancient evil passed through his lips… loathly similar to the chants. God, the chanting… the chants had nearly taken Weiss’ mind.

Weiss could not shake the premonition that the Words would malign Nier, warp him, and make him more like—

No. No, Nier was nothing like that augur. They were going to defeat the Shadows, not join them.

There was something… good about Nier. Weiss couldn’t think of what it was, but... Something worthy. Defiant, maybe.

The Words of darkness didn’t seem so dark coming from him. They were almost… beautiful.

…or maybe Weiss was just woozy.

He was very close to death, after all.

Nier finally finished, his concentration freed from the Verse and given back to Weiss. He tested the mend, a fingertip ghosting down the Grimoire’s side.

“Did that… did it work?” Nier inquired, his breaths still heavy.

Weiss tried to open himself, but the slightest rise blared pain in all his sensors. He couldn’t even curtail the whimper the move incited.

Nier’s brows pinned upward. “What is it?”

“My magic… its,” Weiss tried to catch his ‘breath’ so he could speak, “…l-let’s try this.”

The Grimoire attempted to hover, but only rose a few inches before he hit the ground. Where page met backing burned vividly, canceling all other thoughts and motives. He tried to rise again, only managing to pivot on his bottom edges and come to a sitting position.

“…guess it didn’t heal everything,” Nier said.

“Whatever you did, it s-stabilized me,” Weiss brought up a positive. “I fear I’ll be needing the—the, er, book bag.”

Nier regarded himself for a second, swiping aside tangles of blood-smeared hair as he checked his belts, his chest straps, and everywhere else on his getup where he could attach things.

“No book bag,” Nier announced, “gotta buy a new one.”

“Oh, confound it…” Weiss’ annoyance was much less stringent than normal, “it’s so hard. I…I cannot fit inside most, y-you know…?”

“Maybe we can have one made,” Nier mentioned, a spark of humor despite his exhaustion, “that guy who made my mask. I know you love my mask.”

Weiss rolled his eyes. “Of course! I long to be—” his voice hitched with pain, “to be stuffed into some smelly leather c-c-contraption.”

“I knew you were a fan of my look,” Nier tried to tease him, but ended up coughing.

Weiss eyed him with concern. “Not even your own th-throat will allow you to speak such lies.”

Nier finally reined it in, resting his hands on his knees. He exhaled. “…feel like shit.”

Weiss asked, “will you—will you be able to m-make it back to the village?”

Nier wiped at his face, trying to remove grime but only adding more to the mixture of sweat, dirt and even less savory debris coating him. He scanned the nexus they were left in.

The carnage was incredible. The place was liable to collapse if one breathed on it funny. No way they were sticking around.

“Have to,” Nier replied.

Weiss withheld winces as he hopped along the floor, closer to Nier. “It would be painful, but perhaps I could—”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather you be conscious,” Nier’s tone didn’t allow for arguing.

Weiss ceased. He rarely was on the receiving end of such a voice.

“V-very well.”

Once he had his weapons attached securely, Nier returned and stooped, gently gripping Weiss and hoisting him up. He held him close, tucked under an arm.

Nier tracked down the tunnels, taking it slow to avoid the casualties littering the way. Fortune smiled on them this once, providing a clear exit from the mines by way of a distant slice of daylight.

Wind began to blow through the tunnels, the cool touch welcome after spending so long racing through the warm underground.

Nier stepped out of the mines, ducking through the derelict trusses leading out to the fields.

Rain clouds boiled behind him, the storm distant. Over the plains, the sky was breaking up, beams of light driving away the shadows, and hopefully any shades too.

Nier had never taken this exit before, and reckoned himself by the landmarks he could recognize. He espied the river cutting deep through the hills. If he followed it down, he’d find the bridge leading home.

He descended from the steeper inclines, down to the pleasant grasslands. The valley was strangely still and damp, only moving when a renegade gust drove through the grasses.

It was always so odd to see the area bereft of sheep, even if it had been barren for years.

Nier was glad for this eerie lonesomeness. It was going to be difficult to just walk to the village.

“H-hey,” Weiss broke their silence.

“Hm?” Nier carefully repositioned him a bit, glancing down at his front cover.

“I-I apologize for… well,” Weiss was having trouble articulating.

Nier shook his head, scowling. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Weiss. Stop it.”

Weiss choked, “but I nearly—I could have…”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Nier affirmed.

Weiss averted his gaze.

The thought of _it_ was unspeakable. Some small part of Weiss had always feared such a reality after their run-in with the…well, the _Red Text_ and her aggressive ways. But now that he knew that it was possible for him to... _lose his faculties_ , so to speak, what would this change?

“You’re not,” Nier hesitated, “Weiss, you just proved how strong you are. I think you even saved me mid-losing your Goddamn mind!”

Weiss scoured his memory, the very act painful as the lining of his spine simmered at the slightest tug of magic. He could not verify the claim. It seemed outlandish given the feral state he had been driven to by that cursed augur.

He tried to not sound too disbelieving, “…for true?”

“Yeah. You did, so shut up. You really are Grimoire Weiss the Great. Don’t let some freak show from the Aerie convince you otherwise,” Nier rested his case. “Now stop making me compliment you! You’re gonna get an even bigger head.”

There was no response.

Nier sounded annoyed, “Weiss, if it weren’t for you, I would be long dead—”

“I know!” Weiss said suddenly. “Don’t talk about that.”

Nier kept his silence gladly. He didn’t want to think or talk about it either. It was enough for him that they lived.

Weiss was certain now that he was woozy, as this whole conversation had him a little… ‘misty’, as a human would say.

He had no clue as to how to tell Nier how precious it was to have such unflinching trust. But he didn’t need to know, probably. This was just how it was.

Nier walked for a while, his pace quickened, striding easier than before.

“Thanks for taking it easy,” Nier mentioned.

“Mmm?”

“I can barely stand when you think too hard,” Nier explained.

He offered Weiss a reassuring, but knowing smile. Pain nor confusion crossed their bond, but peace, deep as a channel, existed between them.

And so, the two continued on their way to the village, alive in spite of fate.

* * *

The shadow returned to his village empty-handed. No book to cure them. No augur to lead them. No hope.

“ _No light, no light…”_

Soon, he would be claimed by the madness seeping into the village—taken in by the malady.

They could have plucked hope from the sky, but all they did was set their fates in stone.

If the Black Text nor his author could bend the White Text, then—

Then who…?

“ _Not I, Not I…”_

But it was the shade’s time. His borrowed body began to fester and fade.

He could hear the sounds, the melody, the malady…

“ _In vain, in vain…”_

All done in vain.

The little bird had flown away.

And the shade let the darkness have dominion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it is done. Nier and Weiss survived, and the foe was vanquished! I hope the reveal was worthy and explains a bit about why this replicant was so darn tough and knowledgeable. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you thought, if you like. I really enjoy reading your comments and such.


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